Hapana Means No, Pole Means Sorry

I am kindly greeted by everyone I meet, but most days I also receive a couple requests, some are bold and some are more shy.

Sitting barefoot in the dirt, Caroline is taking a quick water break at the spring. She came from working on the shamba (farm), and she graciously answers a few questions about the water for me. We become friends and when I visit her again a few days later she slips into our conversation:

“No one in my family has shoes, can you buy me some shoes?"

Speaking to a mother, who told me (in response to one of my sanitation questions) that she doesn’t wash her hands with soap because she can’t afford soap. With her two children in view, one playing with a broken knife and the other sucking on a battery (I kid you not…I think I’ve seen two toys total in the community I’m working) I get the request:

“Can you buy my children some storybooks?”

Walking around with my backpack doing field work next to a child carrying a heavy load on their head, I hear:

“Can you give me that bag?”

Following a sweet greeting from children who are overjoyed and surprised to see us in their community:

“Give me sweets!”

“Give me money!”

The last request is quite shocking and pretty disturbing, the first time you hear it from a 3 year old. But, the others, like the one for shoes and storybooks…Honestly, there are times when I just want to buy Caroline and her entire family shoes and order a huge shipment of storybooks and soap, for crying out loud. The truth is I could afford it.

Can you imagine working on the farm all day or walking a mile to school on a rocky dirt road barefoot?

But, we’ve committed as a team not to do handouts. The answer is always the same,

“Hapana, pole” (no, sorry).

It kills me to say it sometimes. I just want to give the kid my backpack and my lunch and water inside. I know he needs it more than I do. But, we don’t do handouts. And for a very good reason: because they don’t last. They provide a temporary fix, but the shoes will break and my friend Caroline will not be able to buy replacements for her and the kids. Nothing will have changed.

Instead, we’ve decided to focus on bringing lasting solutions to the community, to help them help lift themselves out of poverty. Like maize seed and fertilizer loans for Caroline, so that her family can sell the surplus in the market, pay the loan back, save some money to buy seed and fertilizer next harvest and still have some left over to pay for school fees, medical fees, soap and shoes for the family. And it’s better if she is able to buy what she needs for her family, I explain to her. And, she looks up at me, beaming,

“Yes, it will be better. Asante sana (thank you very much)!”

I’m glad we’re about lasting solutions and not temporary fixes. But, I won't lie to you, there are moments when my heart breaks as I look into the eyes of a child who doesn’t understand all of this, but is just hoping to bring something home to their starving family, once again and respond,

“Hapana, pole.”