TheBanyanTree: Writing to Isaiah

[Monique Colver]

I have been a bad sponsor. We have a child in Kenya we've been
sponsoring for . . . 2 years? And each time we receive an update with
a picture of Isaiah we say, "We need to write to him," and then we
don't. Isaiah is in third grade now, he's doing average in Math,
English, and Kiswahili, and he's in satisfactory health. His favorite
day of the year was Christmas day, his best friend is Gideon, his
favorite color is black, his favorite subject is C-RE (I'm not sure
what that is), and his hobbies are ball games. When not in school his
job is herding animals. There's a message written in his own hand on
the latest update, a series of numbers and letters that fills up the
entire space, written in pencil with the handwriting of a third
grader. I'm not sure what it means, perhaps it's a secret code. Alas,
I have lost my secret decoder ring, but that's okay, because just
seeing what this little guy in Kenya has written for me is enough.

And I decide that today I will write to Isaiah. I look on the website
to see if there are any tips on what to say, or what not to say. I
obviously shouldn't talk about my million dollar residence and how I
have everything I could possibly want, I'm not that obtuse. But what
do I say? I have enough trouble making small talk with people I know,
much less with a third grader in Kenya, which is no doubt why he
hasn't heard from me yet. That, and I'm lazy. And on the website I
make a wonderful discovery! I can email Isaiah! Sure, take the easy
way out. Send an email. Of course, Isaiah doesn't have a computer, or
email, and he won't email me back, but someone will print it out,
translate it, and give it to Isaiah. And so I write an email to
Isaiah, and I ask what ball games he likes to play, and I ask him
about his family, and I tell him about mine. I don't tell him the
details of my family because I don't want to scare him, he's just a
little kid after all and even those with the strongest constitutions
have trouble understanding my family. I restrict my definition for
these purposes to Andrew, Honey, and Ash. And while I'm writing this I
realize I must get some pictures of all of us and send them to him so
he knows what we look like. After all, we know what he looks like, it
seems only fair. I finish the email and I click Send, and I feel like
I've accomplished something today, something more useful than dusting,
which wasn't nearly as much fun. And he'll get it sooner than if I'd
looked for a piece of paper to write on, given my propensity for
drifting off on to another task when faced with bright shiny
distractions.

I hope we're helping with our little monthly donation. I think we are.
We're helping with school expenses and his medical check-up, and with
mosquito netting. It's a start. But even more than that I want Isaiah
to know there's a whole world out here with people who care what
happens to him. All for the low monthly cost of what we'd spend for
one dinner out at an American restaurant, something I take for
granted. The cost of one restaurant meal a month may be enough to make
a difference, or at least make a start.

I shall wait to hear from Isaiah, and when I do, I'll respond promptly
next time. It's the least I can do.

Monique