See, I am doing a new thing.

Yesterday it rained.

And what rain.

Rain like someone had taken the whole of Lake Victoria and turned it upside down on the town.

It was the day we had planned to visit some of the children in their homes.

Mistake.

The skies were black as we negotiated the land rover through Nyalenda slum. It isn't a great place at the best of times, the largest slum in Kisumu, home to over a quarter of a million people. The mud and thatch houses cost 400ksh per room per month (about £3.50), but they offer minimal protection from the worst of the rainy season.

As we drove down muddy alleyways, barely wide enough for a car to pass, children called out “Mzungu!” (white person) at us. It is a term of endearment, surprise, delight and abuse, all rolled in to one! A chorus of “how are you?” rang out from the littlest of children barely old enough to walk. It is one of the first things they learn in school. When their teacher enters the classroom the whole class cries out in unison “Good Morning Teacher, how are you?”.

I wish I could write it with the same lyrical voice that they sing it.

We reply with a wave and a “Fine thank you, and how are you?” before we are past them and onto the next.

Children it seems are everywhere. Little boys with dirty clothes and muddy faces eagerly chase a makeshift football, scoring a goal against the baked mud walls of a house, whose owners seem remarkably tolerant of their play.

People come out of their houses when they hear the land rover pass, wondering what is coming their way. The odd motorcycle taxi is the normal traffic in this, the poorest of areas.

Eventually we pull up and John (one of our social workers, responsible for the children in Nyalenda and Kachok) invites us to leave the car. It's soon apparent why, as the road has narrowed such that we can only pass on foot. We grab our things, and walk for a few hundred metres, being careful where we put our feet.

And then the heavens open.

The last place you want to be caught in a storm is a slum. Firstly, because there is nowhere to hide and secondly, and perhaps more importantly, because the water table is high and as the water overflows it brings with it that which was originally in the toilets.

You get the picture.

So we jump, from one small mound to the next, careful where we walk, slipping and sliding in the mud.

The rain is pleasant on the body, the heat leading up to the storm becomes greater, and the relief of the cool rain is lovely. The people here consider rain to be a blessing, watering and refreshing the land, but here in the slums it must be less so. The footpaths turn to rivers, the iron sheet roofs leak and drip onto the floor of what goes for a living room and all thought of talking to each other is put aside by the crashing sound of every raindrop above.

We visited Alex, who I talked of in my last post. We also visited Violet and Collins.

Violet lives with her father and 5 younger sisters. Her mother passed away two years ago, her father is suffering. He has “the big disease”.

People don't talk of HIV, the talk of the big disease. They talk of “living positively”, and hope to meet a partner in the same situation “with a view to marriage and a long term relationship”. But HIV is taking away a generation. It is more common here for children to be with a single parent, with relatives or with grandparents than it is for them to have what we would consider a “normal” family.

Violet is in our program. She is 17 years old. She was in the education program until recently, but the pressure of studying, whilst also looking after the growing family and her sick father was too much. She has missed a lot of school, and is only now in form 6 of primary.

So she asked if she could do a college training course instead. We found her a place on a dressmaking and tailoring course at the local Rotary Youth Training Centre.

She is loving it. Learning a practical skill on a two year course will help her earn a living when she completes it. It was the best she could hope for and she is a strong young woman, with hope in her eyes and determination in her soul.

We left Violet's house with a real sense of hope. In the midst of this worst of places was a girl who was dreaming of her future. In eighteen months time, if she completes her course, we promised to get her a sewing machine of her own.

A treadle one

The sort you work by moving your feet to the rhythm of your heart, the kind we used to use in England before electric ones took over. But here the electricity is expensive and not reliable and pedal power is free and only takes a little getting used to.

Whether it is me or Nicky that presents it to her, I know that will be a proud day for us.

We then we fought our way back through the mud and the rain to meet with Zablon.

He is 15.

He shares two rooms with his father and his 12 year old sister. Zablon's father has TB, his mother left some 8 years ago and they haven't heard from her since.

Zablon is in secondary school.

His father can no longer work, so the Trust pays the small rent for the house.

When Zablon arrives home from school he boils eggs, which he then takes to the market to sell as snacks. Depending on how early he sells out, he may come home and do a second batch. Then he comes back and makes some food for his father and sister.

Zablon is a picture of hope and optimism.

You would expect him to be unhappy and forlorn, but not a chance. Zablon shines. He s delighted to be in school and dreams of college or university. He is a bright boy, and has every chance of fulfilling his ambition.

As we walk back to the land rover we find that the front tyre has a puncture. We have to mend it before we can go, and the rain continues to fall, but we are in good spirits. In the midst of darkness there is light. In the midst of despair there is hope.

Well, it is Easter after all.

Isaiah 43: 19

Forget the former things, do not dwell in the past, for behold, I am doing a new thing. See, I have already begun! Do you perceive it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.