Posts Tagged ‘Maggie Gaughran’

A New Bridge Built (with A LOT of heart) BY Maggie Gaughran

I am always blown away when I get to witness Daraja Academy an its environs through a visitors eyes – when that visitor is family, it becomes that much more meaningful. Maggie Gaughran is my 22 year old cousin, she was named after my maternal grandmother Margaret Higgins Doherty, who like many Kenyan women worked too hard and died too young. She is the daughter of my fathers younger sister. Her mother Kathleen and father Steve have been instrumental in the launching of Daraja Academy, their loving support is part of the reason the school was able to open in 2009 as opposed to 2010.

Though I was proud of the contribution that Maggie was making to the local community and a sucker for any cause that helps our battalion of 3 foot tall, smiling, snot covered balls of happiness – I was totally unaware of the impact she was making until I started eavesdropping on the conversations of my staff. “Maggie is doing God’s work,” Ruth told the other cooks as she paid special attention to her breakfast plate. “When I returned to the village after work yesterday, my neighbors all thanked me for bringing Maggie to Mara Moja,” Rhoda bragged to me before paying her one of the biggest compliments possible, “she is like a twin sister to Olivia.” (Volunteer Olivia Capra left campus over 1 month ago, but the marks she made upon it and all of our hearts are indelible.)

Enjoy Maggie’s account of her outreach to the special children of Pastor John’s orphanage. Though incredible, it is only a fraction of the impact she has made while at Daraja, in a few days please read about the 2 day American Heart Association “Heart Saver” clinic she taught to all 26 Daraja Academy students – C.P.R. dummies, certification card and all!

Enjoy, Jason Doherty

Maggie-stacking-wood

Maggie with the children at the Mara Moja Orphanage

Since arriving in Africa, I have found that the most memorable experience have been the unplanned. I knew when I got here that there would be a two week period when the girls would be away from Daraja Academy. I had planned on volunteering at a clinic or hospital while they were gone. Medicine is my passion, so it seemed the logical place to go. It was not until I crossed paths with the “pants less boy” that I realized what it was I really needed to do here. I saw him standing at the Daraja rock, a 3 foot high rock with “DARAJA ACADEMY” painted in big blue letters over a white background. This little boy was wearing a very dirty, faded red sweater and no pants. That night I dreamt about him and some of the other village children I had seen, covered in dust, with bugs crawling on their faces, I saw them every time I closed my eyes. I could not stop thinking about this child, so dirty, seemingly helpless. But to my surprise he screamed, “How are you” as we drove by. He was genuinely happy.

I decided maybe I should try volunteering at an orphanage. Someone mentioned that there was one only minutes from Daraja, so we made the calls and set up a time to meet. As Jenni and I walked up to the compound, we could see children running around. There were twenty-six children, between the ages of three and twenty-two. The orphanage is run by a man known as Pastor John. He and his wife take care of all the children, six who are his own. I was so impressed by his selflessness; I knew this was where I would want to spend my time.

The next morning I woke up early and tried to prepare myself. I was nervous to go alone, but I tried to remind myself that this was not about me. As I walked alone to Mara Moja Orphanage, I felt as if I was about to go on a first date. What if they didn’t like me? What if they didn’t want my help? My silly fears were squashed the moment I arrived.  The children came to greet me, and immediately put me to work. First I helped to wash the breakfast dishes. The cooking is done completely with fire, and most of the pots were black with soot. I scrubbed as hard as I could but it still took hours. Then they told me to hop up on a donkey so we could go fetch water from the river. I thought they were joking, but they were not. So I hopped up on that donkey and got on my way. I was shocked that these children were going to drink water directly from the river, but they insisted that their bodies had adapted.

The most memorable moment came when a three year old girl was examining my hands. She looks so confused, and I asked someone to tell me what she was saying in Swahili. She said “why are your hands so clean and ours so dirty”. My heart sank down to my stomach, but at that moment another little girl bent down to grab some dirt. She proceeded to take the dirt and rub it all over my legs. She took a step back to admire her work, and a huge smile spread across her face. Situation rectified.

I had originally planned on staying for two to three hours, but eight hours later I found myself still rolling chapatti. I kept thinking that I could leave whenever I wanted. I could go back to my clean drinking water and warm bed, but these children had to stay. Everyday they worked this hard, so I told myself to suck it up. It is clear to me that my heart is no longer all my own. I have given a part of it to Africa, and I would never take it back.

Maggie Gaughran

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Filed under News : Comments (5) : Aug 21st, 2009