When I was offered the opportunity to join a humanitarian mission expedition to provide food and medical assistance to South Sudanese drought affected refugees living in far North West Kenya, I never thought I would be signing up for the most eye opening, incredible week of my life thus far. I had no idea what to expect really, nor did the other nine volunteers so when we all met at 7:00am in the capital Nairobi we were like excited school kids about to head off to camp but without any idea on where we were going or what we would be doing. I just remember being told that it would be dangerous. That just seemed to make me want to do it even more. 

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We eagerly jumped into jeeps and drove across town to the launch point, a government office, where the rest of the mission team were waiting. As we pulled up into the driveway we were surrounded by a wall of Kenyan media and politiicians and that was when I realised that what I had signed up for was kind of a big deal. We were to be on every Kenyan televension channel's news that night. The media could not believe that we would be driving twenty two hours in convoy through some of Kenya's most dangerous regions and actually being the ones who would physically hand out the food to those in need, A rare occurrence as most international organisations use locals for the on-ground delivery. 

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The relief mission was organised by a Mexican Not For Profit Organisation called Cadena, which provides disaster relief all around the world. Our mission team consisted of five members from Cadena, a Mexican journalist, nine volunteers from International Volunteer Head Quarters, a medical team, local pastors and most importantly, armed soldiers, undercover police and the head of the Kenyan National security.

 

Loaded in a heavy-duty, off-road bus, we started the journey really excited and eager to get there. However after eight hours on the bus, travelling some of the worst roads imaginable, to a point where there was may as well have been no bitumen at all, we were over it.

 

The scenery at the start of the journey was beautiful as we climbed our way up out of the Great Rift Valley. When it suddenly dawned on us twenty five year olds that this was the same Great Rift Valley we watched as a cartoon as children on the Land Before Time. All commenting our favourite characters, mine being Ducky.

 

We travelled through the most picturesque mountain range of greens and orange dirt and then made our way down to the valley floor and followed a river until we were out in to the dusty desert plains. Small huts were dotted across the countryside and as we passed slowly through rural towns the people would just stare at us, while the children would all so enthusiastically wave and run alongside the bus begging for sweets until they could no longer keep up.

 

We were on a tight schedule as it had been raining heavily in Uganda and due to the hill and valley geography between the two countries, the rain that falls in Uganda comes off the mountains and flows down into Kenya until it reaches Lake Victoria so we were racing the water most of the way. It seemed quite an odd thing, avoiding potential flood waters in the driest of landscapes.

 

The further north we ventured the more the scenery changed as we drove through harsh desert and plains and over so many dry creek beds. We only managed to get the trucks bogged four times but this seemed to be a common occurrence for me in Kenya that it just became a normal part of driving.

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I had been told that the first day would involve eight hours of driving but the eight hours came and went and after sitting in a bus not designed for long haul travel for twelve hours, we begged to stop and all agreed we should stay the night in the next town we’d pass through called Kitale and get a good night's sleep. We rose at 4:00am to travel a further sixteen hours that day. I thought this day was to be the longest day of my life but no it was outdone by the 22 hour straight journey we were to do on the way home.

 

On the bus there was no way you could sleep or even just rest your head on the seat rest as the roads were so corrugated and washed out that you had to clench your jaws tightly shut the entire time to stop your teeth from chipping. It was relentless.

 

We drove through some ‘hairy’ areas and there was a four hour stretch where we could not stop the bus at any cost in case of guerrilla attacks. Your terrorist groups not your friendly African animal gorilla.

 

Things got a bit scary for us when our bus got bogged, again, and we were basically sitting ducks in a territory which the Somali based jihadist fundamental terrorist group, Al-Shabaab were now making their presence known. The fact that this group were targeting Aid workers heightened our level of fear and made things even more real. However, everyone had to put their fears aside though and get off the bus and go off in pairs in search of sticks and branches to help put under the bus tyres to hopefully be able to drive it out. Luckily we had the soldiers armed with G3 machine guns wandering around on look out to protect us.

 

Unbogged, with a big cheer we were back on the road. The drive while torturous certainly wasn’t boring. The bush was really thick and you were kind of expecting people or animals to jump out at you at any time. We were always on the lookout, another reason we found relaxing that little bit harder to do.

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We finally made it to Lodwar where we based ourselves for the next couple of days, staying in straw cabana like huts at a camp ground.

 

We had 35 tonnes of food to hand out in two days, in three different areas a few hours north of our accommodation. Essentially we had enough food to feed 20,000 families for 10 days. We got to work straight away and unpacked the trucks, divided up millions and millions of beans into three kilogram sacks and after a briefing session we were on our way to our first stop.

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How people can live or survive in this terrain is nothing short of a miracle. It was the driest area I had ever seen. It wasn’t just a sandy desert, it was a desert of rock and gravel, completely incompatible with growing anything. Every now and then you would spot a straw hut in the distance, which a family called home, and I would be left stunned just wondering, how?

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Our bus stopped in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. We get off, and can hear a buzz, murmurs of people. We proceeded to walk up over a small rise and down before us, we were greeted with thousands of people signing and dancing. It gave me goosebumps like never before.  All the women adorned with the traditional colourful neck beading and jewellery, the men draped in coloured cloths carrying their staff and dozens of kids, barefoot in tattered clothes but all dancing and singing praises in their native tongue. A few had even brought drums.

 

The sound, like nothing I had heard, it was so hard not to get emotional hearing the songs and to see it happening right before you, in thanks for you. It was a weird feeling; a feeling of not being worthy enough for all this thanks and almost a feeling of guilt.  Giving food to them seemed like the least we could do. The happiness and joy that these sick and starving people showed was simply unbelievable.

 

One of the local village pastors spoke with them and said something that generated the biggest cheer and praise response from the people. It was then translated to English for us and the pastor had said ‘these people are from all around the world and have come because they care. They have not forgotten you as God has not forgotten you. You are not forgotten!' If there was ever a more clearer demonstration of the verse ‘so the last shall be first, and the first last: for many be called but few chosen’ this was it. They then all raised their hands and started singing and clapping while we got to work setting up the medical tent and preparing the food handouts.

 

The thing I loved most about this trip was not just taking food to these people but actually physically placing the food in their hands and greeting each person individually. Saying hi to them, asking their childrens' names in the hope they understood what you were asking. Receiving some of the biggest gap tooth smiles I have ever seen. You don’t need to understand their tribal language to know that they are thanking you and thanking God for you. It was something else.

 

After the food was handed out and while people were waiting to be seen at the medical clinic, a group of us volunteers started joining in dancing with the people and playing with the children. I have never played a more fun, lively game of hokey pokey than with these children. It was just unreal with so much laughter. It wasn’t just providing a bit of fun and happiness for the children but the fact that the adults gathered around us and were laughing and cheering too, made it even better. Without even realising it, we not only provided food but we gave them an opportunity to ‘escape’ the reality of their life, even for just a moment. For that hour those poor children got to be kids. We played countless rounds of duck duck goose, which I learnt very quickly you will never outrun a Kenyan kid. You become the goose once and you get so puffed that there is no way you will ever catch any of them again. Duck duck goose drew quite the crowd too and there’s nothing like taking a fall in the chase to get more laughs and a nice scraped leg along with it. Typical me, but what’s another scar on my leg if it’s a reminder of that time when I was playing duck duck goose in Kenya. We taught them the macarena and sung a few Swahili songs which we were taught on the bus and then we were completely taken by surprise that they knew (in Swahili) the song ‘this little light of mine’. A crowd favourite. We left there absolutely exhausted and in a sense it all felt so surreal. Our exhaustion, nothing compared to theirs or the life they’re enduring.

 

We got back to camp, ate our simple dinner, had a debrief about the day and then crashed into bed, knowing that tomorrow would be twice as demanding. That day we had handed out seven tonnes of food, the next day we were to hand out twenty eight tonnes. We were sore, tired, excited and at the same time nervous for tomorrow.

 

Our enthusiasm was renewed the next morning and we quickly layered on the sunscreen and jumped on the bus for a two hour drive to our next handout area. What a day! It was ridiculously hot, probably close to 40 degrees and we were standing in the sun lifting ten kilogram sacks of flour and beans all day. This was the real Africa. One of the toughest days of my life but also the most rewarding.
 

When we arrived earlier in the day there were people lined up as far as the eye could see. Again they were all brightly dressed and were all organised into lines, patiently waiting. Their colours against the pale yellow sand and brown acacia trees were a sight to see. We look out the bus window at all these people and we just looked at each other with this dreaded sense that we won’t have enough food.

 

We were only meant to have three villages turn up but in true African style word had got around and seven villages came. There were thousands and thousands, most of whom had walked days with their families to be here and they were all eagerly awaiting for food.

 

We decided today we would have a food handout team, medical team and a children's team. It was such an eye opener interacting with these people. The women are simply stunning, so poised and stoic. I have seen some of the youngest girls probably not yet thirteen, lovingly care for their babies strapped on their backs or front. Young girls married, young girls in need of desperate medical assistance. These tribes practice polygamy so seeing these children with their own children and knowing they are probably one of four or five wives was heartbreaking. I spoke with an eighteen year old with three children, and in the line of older women collecting their food was one little girl, maybe all of ten, shyly collecting her portion in a tatty cloth sack. We didn’t think much of it until we were told afterwards that she is an orphan and was collecting food for her siblings.

 

I don’t think I will ever be able to forget the smell of these people, their look of hunger and sickness and disease evident in the whites of their eyes that were a deep shade of yellow. The sight of children, old well before their time who never got the chance to just be children.

 

Unfortunately as predicted, we ran out of food. We only got through half the amount of people who turned up but horrifyingly there was nothing we could do and that was extremely hard to bear. The people did not move out of line, they just kept waiting, hoping. Walking back onto the bus and still seeing the huge line of desperate people wanting food and help was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. It pains me to say it but I got on that bus and like many of the others, just bowed my head and didn’t look back out the window. You couldn't help but feel you failed so many, you let them down because in reality you left them to starve. With tears in our eyes, we drove off.

 

After a debrief by the mission leader to talk us through what just happened and re boost our spirits, we then travelled another few hours further to our third and final scheduled food drop. Here we were welcomed with a rowdier reception. This time a few of us volunteers got right in amongst them and were jumping and singing with them. It was so hard not to get caught up in their excitement.  Their voices are so pure and beautiful all harmonising with each other, with the ladies taking it in turn to shout ‘ayayayaayaya’ over top of everyone singing. I honestly felt like I was in a National Geographic documentary. It was just so surreal. But here I was in amongst the colours, the sounds and the beat of the drums.

 

We handed out more food here and every time as I’d struggle to pass them the sack of beans, I’d watch in awe at the strength the girls and women possessed. There were women walking two kids, a baby breastfeeding on the front, one strapped on the back and then they just put the 15 kilogram bag of food on their heads and off they walk away into the distance. I was flat out trying to lift it up for the ladies to put it on their heads.

 

We finished handing out food around sunset so the journey back into Ludwar was your typical African scene. Warm red sun setting behind acacia trees on the horizon. 
 

Due to our handouts being a success the Mexican men arranged to have beer dropped at our camp for us. Nothing like a warm African Tusker beer after a hard days work. We were hurting, we were tired and still in disbelief at what we had witnessed over the 2 days. It was emotional, we were on a high but still so disappointed that we had to walk away from so many people. We sat with our warm beers, emotions raw and in reflecting all got to know each other really well that night. 

 

We got up at 5:00 am the next morning, wearily boarded the bus and drove the 22 hours straight back to Nairobi. That was added pain. The roads were still so incredibly rough and I was ready to cry at the 12 hour mark. And I was serious about crying, I was at that point where you are physically and mentally exhausted and you are stuck on an uncomfortable bus with no relief and no end in sight. This trip also meant that I had the privilege of using some of the worlds worst toilets along the way. I’ll spare the details but know that I drew the line and using the mixed sex urinal at one stop.

 

Looking back now as taxing as the four days of travelling was, I would do it all again tomorrow in a heartbeat. I have so much to be thankful for and in the two days of interacting and chatting to the refugees and nomads, I have learnt so much about love, thankfulness and appreciation.

 

People have a lot to learn. The most important thing and what gets me the most is that while they have absolutely nothing, some so ill that their impending death was the reality, yet they have such a strong belief in God and that is what keeps them going, what keeps them singing. What gives them hope.