Day 5 in Kenya: The Home Visit
Imagine living in a walk-in closet
"I can't leave it on the floor because the rats will get it."
Those words stopped me cold. I was standing in a space smaller than most walk-in closets, watching Teclar's mother place the food I gifted her in carefully stacked plastic containers on a precarious ledge next to a chicken cage.
Gifts and The Olympic Children
This morning in Lodwar started quietly, with the kind of peace you try to memorize. We shared a relaxed breakfast and left to board a small plane and returned to Nairobi.
Esther and I shared smiles as we stared out the window, our hearts still full from the trip. But nothing would prepare me for what was waiting at the end of the day.
Our first stop was the Pangani school. As we pulled in, the familiar gates welcomed us back like an old friend. Inside, we wandered through the MOHI gift shop, a colorful haven of handwoven jewelry, bags, and delicately carved wooden animals. We giggled like kids picking out gifts, small pieces of this place to carry home to loved ones.
Then came a moment I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.
The staff gathered a group of 12 children, all of whom were sponsored during my Paris Olympics Impact Beyond Paris campaign. Their tiny eyes sparkled, their smiles shy but curious. Some didn’t fully understand what “sponsorship” meant, but they smiled with excitement.
But the most powerful chapter of this day was still to come.
Following Teclar Home: A Journey Into Another World
"Would you like to meet Teclar's family and see where she lives?"
Of course I said yes. How could I not? This was the little girl whose photo had smiled at me from my phone for months. The 8-year-old whose dreams I was helping support with my monthly contribution.
We meandered through crowded streets bustling with small shops and vendors, dodging motorbikes and children playing.
"Teclar is going to be famous at school now because you are walking with her here," the social worker said with a smile and a laugh.
We turned corner after corner, winding deeper into the maze of the slums. We walked alongside a stream of dirty water made of mud, sewage and trash and found ourselves in narrow alleyways where the metal walls of crooked shanties seemed to press in from all sides.
WHACK.
A freshly washed pant leg from a clothesline caught me square in the face. I laughed it off, but something about that moment felt symbolic. I was literally being jolted into a reality I'd never experienced.
We turned again. And again. The pathways grew narrower. Suddenly, we heard the sound of loud, passionate singing. The walls around us trembled with the sound of a nearby church service. We ducked into a dark corridor attached to the room with the singing. There was no light, just the echo of worship. We reached a metal door. Teclar’s mom fumbled with keys.
Click.
Then, the door creaked open, and I stepped into Teclar’s world.
100 Square Feet of Hope and Heartbreak
Have you ever tried to imagine living in your walk-in closet? Not just sleeping there, but living there, with your entire family?
I was staring at it. Teclar, her mother, her two younger siblings, two social workers, and I were somehow all squeezed into a space no larger than 100-150 square feet. The air was thick and damp. Flies buzzed frantically around us. The church singing vibrated through the thin walls, mixing with the cry of a toddler drifting in like a lullaby of survival.
At the entrance, a small cage stood with a chicken and two chicks. "For food," Teclar's mother explained simply.
Against the back wall: one small chair and a bed that might not have even been full-sized.
Where do three children sleep in a space where one person can barely turn around?
The question hung in the air, unasked but deafening.
The Moment That Broke My Heart Wide Open
Taclar’s mother lifted up the heavy bag of food from the floor that I had gifted to her.
She said, "I can't leave it on the floor because the rats will get it."
Watch someone stack plastic buckets full of food on a ledge next to a chicken cage because that's the only safe place in their entire home, and tell me you understand poverty. Watch a mother's hands shake slightly as she secures the lids, knowing this food represents days of meals for her children.
Behind the chicken cage stood another door. "What's that for?" we asked.
"It's a second entrance in case of fire," she replied matter-of-factly. Fires frequently burn through the shanties due to faulty electrical wiring.
Even in 100 square feet, this mother was planning escape routes for her children.
Dreams That Refuse to Be Contained
"What do you do for work?" I asked Teclar's mother.
"I make and sell sweets on the streets. I hope to work hard and get a better place for my family."
I heard the love in her voice. But I also heard something else, a weariness that comes from fighting impossible odds every single day.
"How can I pray for you?" I asked.
Her requests were devastatingly simple: "Help me provide for my family. Help me get a better place. Help my children get a good education."
We joined hands in that tiny space. Teclar's two younger siblings bowed their heads too. As I prayed over this precious family, their quiet obedience and trust overwhelmed me.
But here's what absolutely destroyed me: Despite living in conditions that would challenge most adults' sanity, 8-year-old Teclar dreams of becoming a doctor.
A doctor.
This brilliant little girl, who already answers questions in English and radiates intelligence, dreams of healing others while living in a space where healing seems impossible.
The $40 That Means Everything
When it was time to leave, Teclar's mother hugged me with gratitude. Teclar and her siblings wrapped their arms around me, and in that moment, I realized something profound:
Looking at Teclar's face, you would never guess her reality. She doesn't wear her circumstances.
That $40 I send each month? It's not charity. It's not even generosity.
It's the best investment I've ever made.
Because there's a brilliant, determined little girl on the other end of that monthly transfer. A girl who dreams of becoming a doctor despite living in 100 square feet. A girl whose mother stacks food containers on ledges to protect them from rats but still manages to raise children who bow their heads in prayer and believe in better tomorrows.
My Life is Being Transformed
As I write this, I can't stop thinking about Teclar's dreams. About her mother's quiet strength. About those two younger siblings who knew to bow their heads when we prayed.
That $40 monthly sponsorship? It's not changing Teclar's life.
It's changing mine.
Have you ever had a moment that completely shifted your perspective on what really matters? Mine was shifted even more today. I feel blessed to be a part of this young girl’s journey.