Some Saturdays we run out of spoons before we run out of children. The feeding programme has become that kind of heartbeat — loud pots, quiet prayers, line stretching past the gate.
We do not pretend the road has been smooth. Ingredients spike overnight; a cooker fails; rain turns the lane to soup. Still the queue forms, because hunger does not negotiate.
We are grateful. Grateful for volunteers who miss Premier League kickoff to chop cabbage; for donors who send M-PESA when their own budgets are tight; for partners who sign contracts and then show up in person to prove they meant the ink.
Faith, for many of us, is not an escape from Kibera; it is the reason we stay faithful to Kibera — believing children deserve more than survival.
We remember the Saturdays when rice ran out before the line did — faces we had to turn away with a voucher and a promise. Those days sit in the stomach of this work; they are why we refuse to romanticise hunger.
Still, the pots return. So do the aunties who know exactly how much salt the stew needs when funds are short — wisdom no spreadsheet captures.
If you have given before, consider a monthly gift so we can plan beyond next week. If you have never given, try one Saturday of your time. The far we have come is measured in bowls, not slogans — and we are only halfway home.
