i haven’t posted on this for a while. i guess it’s been hectic with work starting back and getting back in to drawing and all that. africa is on my mind. there’s been talk of more trips this year, and i listen, intrigued and inspired, yet know that i’m not going back this year. it’s strange to write that. but it’s the truth. i can’t and i think for now, that it’s ok. not because i need a break, and not because i have a massive loan to pay off, and not because i don’t want to. simply because i know that for this year, i can do more outside of africa than i can within it.

afri-lift has really taken off with our recent launch in australia. we have a number of kids being sponsored now for primary school, and just the other day, we had a girl being sponsored for vocational training. her name is zain, and once we figure out how these payments and all that work, we hope to set up a vocation training program, so more older students can be sponsored!

we have a bunch of sponsorship options. most set between $20 and $40 a month, depending of what age an individual would like to sponsor, and how many people we can get on board! if you know anyone who’s keen, please email me [trinicka@hotmail.com] and we can chat.

besides that, i really miss it. the red dust, the bumpy car/motorbike rides. way too many people squished in to tiny churches, cars, around dinner tables, etc. i hope to go back at the end of next year.

[the photo is of zain and i. she has been sponsored since she was five. she has grown up in kibera slum her whole life, but now has the opportunity to live on a music school campus and study for ten months thanks to our sponsors at afri-lift.

tonight we’re launching afri-lift in australia! this is beyond exciting.

i know this is going to help the kids we met so much, it’s beyond words how excited i am! if you happen to be around, come and check it out.

for details, check out our new website!!

from the top of our hotel. the un-finished second story. stairs that lead to nowhere but a beautiful view. our last morning.

missing pader a bit today. now that life is functioning and the world is seemingly moving in a general fowards direction again. work, saving, planning travels, new friends, uni, study, [procrastinating], drawing, fundraisers, spring-time, being lazy, being over-worked, being forgetful, not forgetting enough, letters from foreign towns, photos from days of old, good music, terrible music, gigs, krispy kremes, nights out, nights in, new room, stealing from council clean-up, volunteering, not getting enough sleep. then. BAM. there it is, pader. right in the midst of the mess. pader works her way in to this crazy life and i remember quotes, days, girls, faces, games, kids, sitting on rubber tires, holding children, having children tied to our back, being terribly hot, being terribly sick, rice, chappatti, beans, chappatti, beans, tomatoes, eggs, chappatti, un-finished buildings, trucks, pot-holes, music, spontaneous praise sessions, tears, instant coffee, nap-times, alice, fiona, grace-favour, dorrene, beatrice, george, mud huts, soda, wet towels, mosquito nets, sewing, honesty.

she’s always on my mind. beautiful pader.

c.c.f childcare.

missing kibera days a little bit.

nicko leading me though the small gaps in between mud houses, threatening to tumble in to the valley.
plastic bags filled with refuse lining the ‘streets’.
the stench of burning rubbish filling the thick atmosphere.
being offered food at every door, despite their lack.
grubby kids daring each other…’who can get closest to the muzungu?’.

the sweet sound of song at one corner.
the strong smell of death at the next.

getting lost, sworn at, prayed over, threatened, free.
my ‘not-so-inconspicuous’ hiding spots for my camera, trying to gain some footage to bring back.
being forced to bribe groups of young men after being caught capturing footage so nicko and I would remain ‘safe’.
finding a small hut with a t.v, running off stolen electricity, filled with people watching re-plays of the world cup.

 





yes. I miss kibera days.

these paintings were all done by children living in kibera slum, kenya.

amongst their own silent war, they have created these beautiful pieces of art.
their weapon.
some of these kids had never held a paint brush before.

if you are interested in purchasing any of these art-works, please contact me. all proceeds go directly to afri-lift, a small, kenyan based charity who support these children day in and day out. offering a holistic approach to getting out of poverty. I worked with these beautiful people, who have sacrificed their entire lives for the kids of kenya.

millie grace: trinicka@hotmail.com

‘these stories, in being so intense, may be the reason we have been laughing so much.
to counter.
to balance.
then, in quietness, we are broken.
and sound stops
and hearts beat faster.
and tears,
they’re shed.
and the core of us is shattered
and we are shaken and ruined for these young lives with innocence taken…

and promises
yet to be fulfilled.’

11.3.10

we will look back on this silent war. thoughout the ages we will study it. and our children will read about the greatest mistake that humanity ever made.

maybe we will weep about the blindest eyes, the harshest hearts. maybe we will regret this. maybe I will regret this. not giving it all up and selling everything I have.

maybe we will cry tears of regret, and maybe we won’t. maybe longing for peace will become void amongst it all and the human spirit will sway with what ever comes it’s way. maybe we will remember. what if we changed. what if I changed. how. I don’t know. maybe.

words are complicated most days.

when we realise that we’re both wretched and beautiful, we are freed up to see others the same way.
shane claiborne.

this is george.

one of my my favorite moments of the entire trip: sitting down with george the first night we met him. sarah (another incredible human being on the trip), myself, and this beautiful human being telling us his story. I will never forget;

his escape from the grip of the l.r.a, how many people he has lost. his prison ministry work. just. ah.

honest words shattered me to the core. I’m still not too sure that I ever really lived before this.
not to sure if I ever really listened.
not entirely convinced that I had ever been honest before.

I still grasp on to this conversation as the most real I have ever been. he would just hold on to the table cloth and if a difficult question came up, he would look down and fidget, then, with a quiet voice, respond with such a grace it almost made me cry. just asking george questions and listening to his response. so intrigued by him. sarah caught this on our little video recorder, mounted upon her diary and a few other things used a makeshift stand.

george humbled us. he still humbles us. thank you george.

maasai, insinya, kenya.

at lunch with a new found friend today. warming our hands over bowls of hot soup and warming our hearts over honest words. we spoke of moments. just those seemingly insignificant moments of learning and fragility and candour and grace. and realizing that at the end of it all, this is what will remain. how they make us feel…the tiny details we remember. so, with the permission of time and a listening ear, I began to recall some of these moments I experienced in africa.

kibera slum, christmas day, two thousand and eight. little victor saying grace over the food we had brought in to their tiny little mud home at the bottom of the slum. with the stench of burning rubbish insulting my nostrils, I walked the ‘streets’ lined with sewerage and witnessed ‘houses’ threatening to tumble in to the valley…victor’s honest words stilled my heart. HIV/AIDS positive. fourteen years of age, victor taught me more than I could ever even dream of teaching him.

afri-lift compound, nairobi with new found african brothers. spontaneous jam with a broken guitar and utilizing the upside of a plastic bin as a drum, we sung for hours on end. then, a point where music ceased and only honest voices and broken hearts remained. ‘amazing grace’. the soundtrack to each life in the room was harmonized. four beautiful african stories merging with some crazy muzungu’s story through music. just a moment of delicate bliss that stole my heart. there is a short clip at the top. it only barely captures the rawness.

overwhelming views of kitgum, northern uganda. the city on a hill we became so attached to. climbing up to the highest point in the small town and venturing in to a previously un-explored area of our temporary home. ‘hand in hand with tiny strangers’. a storm brewing on the distant horizon, but a larger storm growing in our not-so-distant hearts.

pader, northern uganda after a beautiful meal at alice’s home, we sat with our new friends in the middle of a huge field under the african night sky. a oversized, two story rounded mud hut with a straw roof was placed in the middle of the field and proved a home to the two humanitarian aide workers we had met.  a kind of artless love filled us as we spoke of the adventures we had. we sat there, the five of us: crazy, young, broken and messy. a guitar accompanied us long in to the evening. singing of falling in love and out of it again. looking around and seeing nothing but a huge field of tall grass and the night sky. surreal.

osiligi farm, kenya in two thousand and ten. the morning after a huge storm, walking barefoot through the openness of the land. muddied feet, and my ipod struggling with the 10% of battery remaining to finish sufjan stevens, ‘abraham’. just before the sun rose fully, there was a moment. only seeing ten foot in front of me due to the fog. acacia trees becoming less and less visible through heavy mist. meeting the early risers along the way. walking to work, farming tools in hand and a huge smile. I miss this.

hold my heart, lest I forget.

such hospitality.x

‘experience:
the most
brutal
of teachers.
but you learn,
my God do you learn.’

flying to pader.

I had a little paper crane
offering comfort and keeping me sane.