Good Intentions

When the rumor first started — that Tim and Kathy MacLean were buying Kenyan children — it came as a shock. The MacLeans thought they were doing God’s work.

They told me their side of the story over Skype, sitting in the awkward glow of their home computer screen in Orange Lake, Fla. Tim’s handlebar mustache and Harley t-shirt didn’t scream “Christian missionary” to me, but he started talking about his faith in God right away. It’s the reason why the MacLeans got involved in the lives of kids living more than 7,000 miles away from them. A contractor by trade, Tim was working on a construction project in Western Kenya when, as he put it: “God spoke to me one day and asked me, ‘What about the children?’”

It’s a pertinent question in Bondo District. Tim had stumbled on a rural, low-income region of Kenya where 14 percent of adults had HIV or AIDS — the highest prevalence in the country — and many local children had lost their parents to the disease.

So, despite the challenges of overseeing a project in Kenya without living in said country — and with no discernible expertise in running an orphanage — the MacLeans broke ground on Foundation Stone Children’s Centre. They believed the children would benefit from a routine involving steady meals, school and church. On the Foundation Stone website, the MacLeans outlined a simple vision: “to help people in other countries to have adequate places to worship and live.” They also planned to bring some of Foundation Stone’s U.S. donors to Kenya, where they could visit the orphans they were supporting.

The trouble started when the MacLeans started looking for needy kids. According to Tim, some impoverished families immediately proffered children, begging for help. Others got suspicious. They alerted government officials that foreigners were purchasing Kenyan children for unknown purposes.

“When the community’s feelings are not acquired, you wind up with such situations,” said Allan Onguka, a district children’s officer in Bondo. With a patient weariness (a universal temperament, maybe, among public servants), Allan told me that he wasn’t surprised by the community’s reaction. Misunderstandings between locals and charitable foreigners happen sometimes — and abuse and corruption scandals at Kenyan orphanages aren’t unheard of, either.

Allan works for a government department that bears official responsibility for child protection and welfare throughout Kenya. It’s a daunting charge, considering the country is home to an estimated 2.6 million “OVC,” or orphaned and vulnerable children. (Development experts deem children with living parents as “vulnerable” if the kids carry a high risk for bad outcomes. Examples include extreme poverty, a disability or a seriously ill parent.)

The demand for OVC care in Kenya far outweighs what the government has been able to provide. Nonprofit institutions like Foundation Stone have stepped in to try to fill the gap; they operated with little or no oversight until 2001, when the Kenyan government made major reforms to their child welfare system.

Although stricter regulations have theoretically been in place for a decade, it’s unclear how much impact they have in reality. Some foreigners have used this relative freedom to harm children in institutional care. In the past year or so, U.S. and U.K. volunteers have been accused of sexually abusing children living in Kenyan orphanages. The incidents raised questions about the management of the private institutions and the naïveté of allowing foreign volunteers on company-sponsored or missionary trips to spend time alone with — or even bunk with — the children.

As a result, some people have limited faith in the private children’s homes, which still offer most of the services available to Kenyan children who have been orphaned, abused or abandoned. (As of 2012, about 80 percent of children in residential care programs live in private facilities.)

It’s also unclear whether the private facilities — especially small ones like Foundation Stone — can feasibly meet the latest government standards. Many operate on tiny budgets supported entirely by foreign donations. To cut costs, some hire staff with no expertise on how to care for orphaned or abandoned children, let alone those who have emotional or physical problems.

The MacLeans are still working with the Kenyan government to secure an official operating license for Foundation Stone. Since resolving their initial misunderstanding with their neighbors in Bondo, Foundation Stone has admitted 30 children. The facility is one of just three residential institutions for OVC in the area, all run by faith-based organizations.

When I met Foundation Stone’s on-site coordinator, Juliane Otieno, she was still taking classes in child development, so she could meet the national education standards for her position. In the meantime, she continued quietly managing the day-to-day operations of the orphanage from her office, just outside the dormitories (one for boys, one for girls). She kept a single picture on the wall by her desk: a framed photograph of Kathy and Tim, smiling at the camera from the back of a motorcycle.

Juliane took me on a tour of the orphanage, past the empty rows of bunk beds and across the sprawling yard, where a woman was preparing lunch over an outdoor stove. There weren’t many children around to feed; most were away at school. Three small boys stopped playing to stare or smile at me as I passed. (I couldn’t tell whether the numerous holes in their clothing were merely a sign of a tight budget, or a Dickensian moral stance on the wisdom of investing in an orphan’s appearance. Or maybe it was just laundry day.)

Tim said he views Foundation Stone as an organization that does a lot of good with limited resources. He gets frustrated sometimes; he said it’s difficult to understand why the regulations for private OVC institutions are so complex, while the government-run institutions aren’t always models of quality care.

“I think the kids we have at our site are probably better taken care of than most Kenyan children in this area,” Tim said. “We’ve never done this before, and we’re making a lot of mistakes, but we’re doing the best that we can.”

Kathy, after a long silence, spoke up to echo Tim’s point. Her voice crested and rolled with a persuasive, benevolent passion that reminded me of evangelical sermons. She noted how “blessed” the children in their care are, how they get to interact with visitors from the U.S. “who come over just because they love kids.”

What the MacLeans lack in expertise, they genuinely hope to make up for with kindness and earnest effort.

“Love covers a multitude of sin,” Kathy said.

Admission and “Aging Out”

When I asked to interview a resident of Foundation Stone, Juliane suggested Ruth — one of the first children ever admitted there. I met her at the Catholic boarding school where she now spends most of her time. We headed for the empty auditorium, so the other girls wouldn’t see the interview and ask about it. Ruth didn’t want everyone at her high school to know she was an orphan.

In a whispery voice, she explained that her father died in 1999, and her mother a few years later. At age 9, she went to live with her uncle’s second wife, then to Foundation Stone. She hesitated as she answered each question, breaking into a shy smile and gazing across the room as she tried to formulate the right answer.

Today, the orphanage would not accept Ruth. Foundation Stone’s latest policy is to only admit children from about 3 to 7 years old. Juliane said this is a practical response to the organization’s financial limitations: They don’t have specialized programs to help older youth or manage the “bad habits” that they might bring with them.

Ruth said she came to the orphanage because her extended family couldn’t support her. She certainly wouldn’t have been able to attend high school if she hadn’t gone to Foundation Stone. It’s a gift for which Ruth repeatedly expresses her gratitude. In a country where many children don’t get an education — only about 40 percent of Kenyan children attend high school — she considers herself lucky.

The adjustment to life at the orphanage was difficult, though. Ruth has always had trouble getting used to new people. Over time, she settled in and befriended Celine, a girl a few years her junior. They’ve grown up together. Ruth said she doesn’t see her as a sister, though. She cares about Celine and others at Foundation Stone, but she knows they’re not family.

That’s a pretty important distinction. Much of modern psychological and social development theory hinges on the premise that children need to grow up with family — or, more precisely, with supportive, emotionally close caregivers committed to helping the child gain skills and independence over time. Because those relationships can be challenging (or maybe impossible) to provide to every child in institutional care settings, U.S. and European child welfare systems have shifted toward home-based care options, like foster parents and adoption, and away from residential institutions. Kenya’s child welfare department is hoping to move toward a similar system.

“The Kenyan government is not in the business of encouraging children to be brought up away from their families,” Allan said. “An institution is not a home … There are those things you remember, childhood memories. Institutions normally rob children of those things.”

Allan also expressed concerns about how foreign-run orphanages in Kenya might nurture unrealistic expectations for the children in their care — essentially spoiling kids who will eventually have to fend for themselves.

The uncertainty of an orphan’s future is not lost on the MacLeans, however. Over time, the couple has come to understand the limited economic prospects in Kenya. They’ve reconciled themselves to the fact that some of the children at Foundation Stone will never get a college degree.

“It costs about $600 a year to put these kids through secondary [high] school,” Tim said. “For those who can’t get good grades and get a university scholarship, they still need to go out and make a living.”

Toward that end, Foundation Stone has launched farming projects, like gardens and a chicken coop, to help the kids develop practical skills. Juliane also assesses whether each child should participate in the home visit program. It involves staying with extended family twice a year, to maintain ties in the community where the child will likely live as an adult.

On school holidays, Ruth spends some time with her family and some time at Foundation Stone. She described serving as a mentor to the younger children and trying to help out around the orphanage, “to show that I am grateful for what they did.” (Ruth’s gratitude quickly became the central theme of our interview, despite my efforts to delve into other topics. There is, of course, nothing wrong with an orphan feeling gratitude; still, it unnerved me to hear it repeated as the predominant feeling toward one’s caregivers. Consider: How many American teenagers would immediately choose “grateful” to describe how they feel about their parents?)

The MacLeans also worry about the future of the orphanage itself. The Kenyan government wants all OVC care institutions to have a sustainability plan. Foundation Stone doesn’t exactly have one yet. In addition to selling produce and eggs from the farming projects, the MacLeans are thinking of opening a private school to generate extra income. They said the vast majority of Foundation Stone’s funding comes from individual donors, and the remainder from mission funds collected by several church congregations. All the money comes from the MacLeans’ networks.

“We’re not going to be around forever,” Tim said. “It’s going to have to take off on its own if it’s going to keep going.”

In the meantime, Ruth has a couple more years before she graduates from high school. One day, she hopes to be a doctor. She thinks she has a chance to get her college education sponsored if she maintains high marks in school. But nothing is guaranteed. Right now, Ruth is the oldest child at Foundation Stone. When she finishes her high school education, she’ll be the first to leave their care.

In the U.S., some call the departure from foster care “aging out.” For children with families, this transition to formal adulthood often coincides with birthday celebrations or graduations. For children in institutions, it’s the time when support officially grinds to a halt.

The ‘Safety Net’ and Other Options

Despite Kenya’s staggering number of OVC, many orphaned children never end up in institutional care. That’s because so many Kenyans view their families not as a nuclear unit — mother, father, children — but as an extended network. Even if the parents are still alive, it’s not unusual for a child to live with a grandmother, uncle or other relative for long periods of time.

“The kinship system in this part of Kenya is still tight,” Allan said. “Most of the [orphaned] children we see in this area can always trace their guardians and relatives.”

Economic constraints, combined with the HIV epidemic, have increased the burden that additional children place on their extended families. As a result, Allan said, more and more orphaned and vulnerable children fail to get what they need from the informal “safety net” of the kinship system.

To prevent those families from splitting apart, the Kenyan government has partnered with the World Bank, UNICEF and other global partners to launch a new social welfare program — a formal safety net. The process is complex, Allan said, but it helps ensure that cash transfers get to some of the most desperate families in Bondo. The families don’t simply apply for help at the government office; given the widespread poverty in Kenya, officials predicted a system like that would invite corruption.

“We’re looking for the most vulnerable,” Allan said, tapping the desk to underscore his point. He cracked a smile: “Because I am also vulnerable, I think, in terms of economic ability.”

To find the most vulnerable families, the government organizes a series of public meetings, where people elect local residents to identify households experiencing the worst poverty. At the time of our interview, Allan said Bondo district was distributing cash transfers to 1,491 households supporting a total of 4,937 children. Each household gets about 2,000 Kenyan shillings per month — roughly $22 in the U.S. Allan said it makes a difference. “It’s not enough,” he said. “But it’s a lot of money.”

Researchers are still measuring the impact of the program, but initial results look promising. Since the payments began, more of the children living in those homes have attended primary school, rising from 78 percent in 2009 to 94 percent in 2014.

Unfortunately, poverty isn’t the only threat to a child’s wellbeing. A 2010 national study found that 3 out of every 4 Kenyan children had experienced some kind of sexual, physical or emotional abuse, often from their family members. In a 2008 Department of Children’s Services report, the Kenyan government noted that orphans are the “major victims” of crimes like assault, sexual abuse and forced labor.

The kinship system offers no guarantee against child abuse or exploitation. A Save the Children study found that Kenyans believe some informal family caregivers only accept an orphaned child because they feel pressured to or because they want to secure a deceased relatives’ inheritance. In those cases, the caregivers may treat the child as an unwelcome, charitable obligation. (The bleak beginning of “Jane Eyre” comes to mind.)

It’s tough to find long-term solutions for children who face abuse from their caregivers, according to Rogers Ochieng Otieno. He works with Support Community in Democracy Alliance, or SCODA, which aims to address human rights violations in Bondo. When reports of child abuse come to SCODA, Rogers brings them to attention of law enforcement — but in his opinion, Kenyans can’t count on the legal justice system to help. He’s still trying to move forward court cases that began as early as 2006. The children caught up in those cases often stay where they are in the interim.

“When you decide to follow that channel, you may not end up assisting anyone,” Rogers said.

SCODA staff use community contacts to identify kids who have fallen through the cracks of family and government support: orphans getting paid subsistence wages by fisheries, or selling sex to support their younger siblings. If SCODA staff can’t locate extended family, Rogers tries to gather enough money to send the kids to boarding school. During holiday breaks, the orphans sometimes end up at his home, which he already shares with his wife and two children.

If Rogers had an alternative option, he would take it. But he said most OVC institutions are filled to capacity.

“To do this work, you need to neglect even your family at one point or another,” he said.

Formal adoptions are a viable alternative, in theory. They’re rarely carried out in practice. Allan said the government would like to increase adoptions, but traditional cultural norms have made the practice taboo. The high social value placed on fertility and childbearing means that many Kenyans view adoption as a shameful sign of reproductive failure.

“People call children their wealth,” Allan said. “Children are viewed not only as a source of pride, but as a status symbol. They signify who you are. If you cannot get a child, for any particular reason, then you are viewed as useless.”

The stigma surrounding adoption is part of why locals held suspicions about the MacLeans’ orphanage. They figured the couple wanted to buy the children for themselves, or sell them to Americans overseas.

In reality, the MacLeans already have their own (biological, now adult) children, and they’re not trying to adopt Kenyan kids. Even if they wanted to, it isn’t exactly easy. Kenya has only allowed U.S. nationals to adopt a few dozen children in the last decade, peaking at 36 adoptions in 2005 and dropping to just 4 in 2013. (Contrast those figures against Kenya’s neighboring countries, like Ethiopia, where U.S. residents adopted 993 children in 2013 alone.)

If the MacLeans wanted to bring home a child from Kenya, they’d have to demonstrate “extenuating circumstances” first. That’s because the MacLeans are white. According to the local adoption laws, the racial difference alone makes them less than ideal caregivers for a black Kenyan child.

Lost and Found

While I waited outside a Kisumu police station, a little boy walked up to a cluster of men on a bench. The boy was maybe 3 or 4 and holding back tears, all wide eyes and quavering voice. He wore bright swim trunks and a shabby sweatshirt. As he spoke, I made out one shaky, English word: “mama.”

The men pointed in the direction of a man in a police uniform. The child looked around with grave hesitation and then headed over, calling out softly. The officer kept walking. He passed out of sight, the boy toddling desperately behind him.

I’ve wondered what happened to that boy, or what should have happened. If his parents were truly gone — unable or unwilling to keep him — what would really help him?

If he found his extended family, he might have entered a home-based program via USAID, which recently increased funding for support services to families caring for OVC. The efficacy of those psychosocial programs inevitably lies in their details. A recent study from Kenya and Tanzania suggests that some OVC support programs may, in their quest to save the children, be overlooking the very caregivers who can make a difference in their lives. Home visits from volunteers trained to check up on the children didn’t seem to do much good, but programs that focused on the adult guardians tended to improve the lives of the caregivers and the children. When guardians participated in support groups, for example, their kids were less likely to experience abuse.

And what if the boy ended up in an orphanage? A study that compared children in communities to those in institutional care turned up truly unexpected results: The children in the institutions seemed to be healthier, score higher on intellectual tests and have fewer social and emotional problems. The jury is still out, but maybe — when done right — some residential institutions can offer what the MacLeans have been striving and praying for: a better life for orphaned and abandoned kids.

Back in front of the police station, I wasn’t thinking about all that. The boy kept wandering around, alone.

I hoped for a tearful reunion with a frantic mother. She never appeared. I wanted to comfort him, but what could I offer? A hug? A chocolate bar? He wasn’t my child, and Kenya wasn’t my country. I didn’t know how to help.

As I worried over what should happen, someone took the boy by the hand. They walked into the station together, to wait for whatever came next.