A New Place, A Growing Home

We travelled from Nairobi to Kisumu, catching our first glimpse of Lake Victoria from the sky, its vastness stretching to the horizon.

At the airport, Moses was waiting for us, and from there we began the drive to Amagoro, near the Ugandan border, set in a lush, hilly landscape.

The three-hour drive felt like entering a different world. The city gave way to open countryside, and everything turned intensely green. Fields of maize, banana trees, and sugarcane lined the road. Tuk-tuks appeared everywhere, weaving between boda bodas and large trucks piled high with freshly cut cane. The roads grew narrower and more winding, the driving more unpredictable, and rivers ran full alongside us.

By the time we reached the compound of the children’s home, the scale of what had been built there slowly came into focus. What began as a home for just twenty children has grown into a community supporting around eighty, and it is still expanding.

Albert, who has been part of the project since the beginning, showed us around Sunbeam Children’s Home. The seven-hectare compound includes dormitories for all age groups, from a nursery with just five babies to housing for older boys and girls. A new dormitory for girls has recently been completed, while another for boys is still waiting for funding.

But it is more than just a place to live. There are homes for staff, a primary school, and a large garden where potatoes, vegetables, melons, bananas, and mangoes are grown. Recently, beehives have been added. Five cows provide milk, and chickens supply eggs. Water comes from their own source, and electricity is generated by solar panels, though cloudy and rainy days can still be a challenge for maintaining a steady supply.

Only as we walked through the compound did we begin to understand how it all came to be. We had come on the recommendation of a friend, who told us about a children’s home founded by Ellen, now a place that cares for orphaned and refugee children. Some of the children are placed there through government services, while others are supported within the surrounding community but are still able to live at home.

From the edge of the compound, you can see the hills of Uganda in the distance, a quiet reminder of how close the border is.

In the afternoon, we spent time with the children. We sang together, sharing some of our songs while they taught us theirs. Their energy was immediate and contagious. There was no holding back. At first, we felt slightly awkward, unsure of ourselves, but it did not last long. Before we knew it, we were laughing, moving, and joining in.

Games followed. What started as a simple round of rock, paper, scissors quickly turned into running, shouting, and bursts of laughter. The rules became more flexible, the competition louder, and the joy unmistakable.

As evening settled in, everything softened. The pace slowed. A few children gathered around for card tricks, others sat in small groups playing quiet games. The light faded, and with it came a calm, content atmosphere.

We ended the day with samosas, delicious and, as always here, surprisingly filling.

That night, we fell into bed exhausted. Not just from the journey, but from everything we had taken in, the place, the people, and the small moments that stayed with us long after the day had ended.