The boy who would only play with sand

Before I came to Kenya, my colleague Liz told me she had been to a special school on her last trip. She still felt heartbroken about the experience. “There was a boy sitting on the ground”, she said, “Just surrounded by dirt, and all he did all day was play with the sand”. I’ve forgotten all about her saying it.

She doesn’t want to go again, but come the time she’s on the Institution Bus and we’re on our way.

We all crowd into headteacher Mary’s office as we receive our official welcome. I ask her a question. “Headteacher Mary, what do you need the most?” All of us want to hear her answer. There’s a murmur of, “Good question”.

“We have so many pupils who soil themselves twice a day and we have to employ four women full time to do the washing and it is very had work. If only we had a washing machine”.

We all nod. Some of us exchange glances.

The school is much better than Liz remembers and she is heartened by the new playground, murals and posters. A lot of time, care and money has gone into supporting the development of the school.

I love the artwork here. This is a Superb Starling:

I’m not sure what species this chick is:

There’s a mural for counting candles.

We are outside in the heat and dust, high-fiving the pupils when Liz says, “There he is”. I don’t know who she means. My eyes scan around. “The boy who only plays with sand”. Oh yes, so this is the place she was talking about. I follow her gaze. “He’s still here”.

His name is Brian.

Brian was born in 2002. Wamunyu Special School has been his home since he was a toddler.

Every day he sits out in the sun, in the dirt of the school grounds, and plays with sand. He picks up a handful of dirt and lets it fall gently through his fingers.

Brian is autistic and non-verbal. He can’t stand having a shirt on next to his skin, so wears a baggy jumper instead. It’s ripped and inside out.

His teacher, Tabitha, has eleven people in her class, of differing abilities. The school struggles for resources, for facilities and for training. She is caring and enthusiastic despite the limitations of her surroundings. “We don’t know what to do for the best. He just sits there all day.”

She looks at me earnestly as we discuss the staff working here. “It’s a calling”, she says. I’m humbled by them.

As we finish our visit, I go to see Headteacher Mary and ask for her contact details. I want to stay in touch with her and talk with my American volunteer friend Scott about how we could fundraise for a washing machine. Life here is so hard for some of the most disadvantaged people imaginable and we are so wealthy in comparison. Surely we can at least try to make a difference to their lives?

More adventures in Kenya