Encounters with Chameleons

This afternoon in Kibos we went for a walk, to look around and pray over the acre or so plot that we are roughly farming.

There was me, Moses, Tatu, Paul James, Kennedy, who has been working over the land and planting maize and John and Dominic, two of the boys from Kibos who broke up from school this morning for Easter (pictured at Kibos this afternoon)

We crossed the dusty red road, rutted from the tractors that run up and down with their full loads of sugar cane bulging from iron cages pulled behind them.

As we walked down an older man was burning wood close to the road side, filling the air with smoke as he turned branches into charcoal for the cooking fires.

Close by his wife gathered the smaller branches into bundles to sell for firewood. They would well for up to 100 shillings per bundle at the market (about 80p) – enough to put a small meal on the table.

By the side of the road Tatu suddenly stopped and stared. I had walked by before I noticed, but turned round to look. There, crawling out of the grass, getting away from the fire, was a chameleon, bright green against the red road.

It struck me that, if this chameleon was any good, it would have been red by now, but, vivid against the dusty track it wandered forth and began to cross.

Fearing for its safety amongst the motorbikes, cars and tractors that plied this route Moses dashed over and, as his wife recoiled in horror, bent down and picked the chameleon up.

The little lizard spat and tried to bite, not realising that he was only meant well, that he would soon be put in a lovely patch of greenery, away from the dangers of the road.

As I shared in fellowship at the Kachok rubbish dump this evening it struck me what a metaphor the chameleon provided.

The boys we look after often find it hard to change their colours quickly. The life they have known is one of hardship and struggle, one with no discipline, where no social skills are required, they are in a grass that is slowly burning around them, and they don’t know how to get away.

Some of them take the quickest route, straight into busy roads.

For them, the vehicles often get them. Their four wheel drives, tractors and motorbikes are glue, drink or drugs. Death may be slower, but it’s just as inevitable.

And then there are those who are picked up and turned around. They may kick or bite a little in the early days, but they soon find themselves in patches of green. I sat with one such boy this afternoon in Kibos. He had found it hard to settle, but now felt at home. The other boys are like his brothers and Moses and Tatu his mum and dad.

The colours of his street life have gone and he is studying for his KCPE exams, with hope for his future and security at home.

Its better in a safe place than wandering the streets, whether you’re a small green chameleon, or a child without a home.