Community, Coastlines, and Palm Sunday Reflections

We spent these past days still carrying Friday evening with us, the powerful play, the songs that lingered in our minds, and the story of Rwanda in 1994 that continued to unfold in our conversations. I was deeply impressed by how much it moved the children, not only the storyline itself, but also the remarkable performance by the children of Kivukoni School.

Those impressions stayed present as the weekend unfolded in a gentler rhythm: slow mornings, arts and crafts around the table, and long, unhurried hours by the swimming pool and the beach. All the while, the now-familiar monkeys wandered through the garden, as if they too had quietly become part of our everyday life here.

At one point, while walking back from the swimming pool with Julius, he suddenly said he would love to be a penguin. It caught me by surprise, so I asked him why. “They breathe like we do,” he explained, “but they can dive and swim so beautifully.” We had just been underwater together, diving and swimming, something he is enjoying so much at the moment. I couldn’t help but smile at his reasoning, and gently added that penguins aren’t exactly the fastest walkers on land. We both laughed.

These are the moments I love most, the small, unexpected conversations that reveal what moves the children, how they see the world, and the quiet dreams beginning to take shape. There is something truly beautiful in that.

Saturday brought the highlight of our weekend. Once again, we joined Ocean Sole for their coastal cleanup day (www.oceansole.org/coastal-cleanup). Usually held on Fridays, this time it took place on a Saturday, together with children from Nyota ya Asubuhi (www.koinoniacommunity.org/nyota-ya-asubuhi/ ).

Nyota ya Asubuhi is a community-based organisation supporting orphans and vulnerable children. What began with just 12 children has grown into a community of 135. Every Saturday, the children gather for a day of activities and a shared meal, and this time, they joined the Ocean Sole team at the beach.

The morning began with the rhythmic work of collecting rubbish. Piece by piece, bag by bag, the beach slowly transformed. Omar, a Turtle Ranger at Ocean Sole with a natural gift for connecting with children, turned the labour into play. Laughter replaced effort, games replaced routine, and before long, the children all ran into the sea to cool off.

Then came the sandcastles.

Polyxena observed something that stayed with me long after we left. As the children built, they didn’t start with towers; they built walls. Each group carefully created a boundary around their “property” before adding houses and details inside. It mirrored the world around us here: homes enclosed by walls and gates, shaped by a deep-seated need for security. Coming from Switzerland, where gardens are open and boundaries are often invisible, it felt like a quiet but powerful reflection of our different ways of living.

By the end of the morning, we weighed the effort. Together, we had gathered 116 kilograms of rubbish, a tangible, heavy reminder of the impact a group can make.

Yet, it was the human connection that left the deepest impression. The children became friends instantly, their warmth immediate and natural.

“Mami, they like to hold hands and touch my hair... they are all so nice and friendly,” Assunta said. Polyxena noticed the same: the constant smiles and an openness that persisted even in lives that are far from easy.

Later, we were invited to visit the community center. In the kitchen, mothers volunteered their time to prep salads and steam rice. There was a moving, quiet strength in that space, a shared sense of care that required no words. We left with full hearts, feeling incredibly grateful to be part of the Ocean Sole community in Kilifi and to be included in such inspiring work.

Sunday brought another kind of reflection.

It was Palm Sunday, and celebrating it here felt especially meaningful. With real palm leaves in our hands, we sat in a church filled with warmth and prayer. We watched as others folded their leaves into intricate crosses, and later, we tried it ourselves. At home, we crafted our own crosses and a few little boats from the large leaves we had gathered.

We ended the weekend next door at Salty’s, feeling peaceful, grounded, and blessed.

And now, the moment we have all been waiting for:

Tomorrow, my husband and our oldest son will finally join us. We’ve been preparing, setting up a small workspace and imagining the moment we’ll all be together again. More than anything, we are simply happy. For the next eight days, our family will be complete.