Life’s Little Things are the Biggest Things: Kenya International Experience, July 18-28
By Hudson Gorham
My service-learning journey in Kenya was a very transformative experience that reshaped my perspective on community, connection, and my place in the world. Engaging in activities such as working with children at an orphanage, collaborating with healthcare professionals, and immersing myself in Kenyan culture provided lessons that really exceeded any classroom education. Going to Kenya was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It wasn’t just a trip, it was an experience that taught me more than years of school ever could. From the moment we arrived at Brackenhurst and met Billy for orientation and our first Swahili lesson, I knew I was about to be immersed in something deeply impactful. Each day brought new challenges, heartwarming moments, and lessons in compassion, resilience, and cultural humility.
Our first major service site was the Limuru Children’s Center, an orphanage that cared for children from infancy to school age. In the mornings, I held and played with babies; there were children as young as two weeks old. These tiny, fragile lives just clung to us for attention, comfort, and warmth. It broke my heart to see how much they longed for affection due to the lack of nurses. The simplicity of being held meant everything to them, and I was struck by how something so basic could make such a difference.
Later in the day, we played with the older children at the school. We joined them in games during recess, painted watercolor pages, and made thank-you cards together. Billy, our leader, pointed out that even something as small as art supplies could feel like Christmas for these kids, and that stuck with me. One child, Rebecca, stood out to me. She had a disability, and I spent time just holding her hand and listening. Her quiet presence reminded me that communication isn’t always verbal; sometimes, connection happens through simple presence.
One of the most meaningful relationships I built while I was abroad was with Mary, a 19-year-old girl I met at the school for girls with disabilities. We played together, danced, and shared stories. Mary reminded me that laughter and music are universal languages. Despite living vastly different lives, we still bonded.
Being in Kenya pushed me far outside my comfort zone when it came to communication. Language barriers forced me to get creative and to listen more deeply. I learned to read body language, to ask questions with my eyes, and to speak simply and clearly. Our Swahili lessons helped, but I also realized that warmth and sincerity often speak louder than words.
This was especially true during our visit to the maternity hospital, where I shadowed nurses and doctors. I saw a patient who had been in a motorcycle accident and watched as they cared for him with limited resources. At one point, I asked for a mask because none of the staff were wearing them, a large contrast to what I’m used to in the U.S. That moment showed me how assumptions about healthcare don’t always translate across contexts. While shadowing healthcare professionals at the maternity clinic, I engaged in thoughtful conversations, asking questions to understand their practices despite resource constraints. The absence of gloves and masks in routine care contrasted with their advanced telehealth technology, sparking our discussions about healthcare disparities.
Later, we had conversations with interns from the Maa Trust about reproductive health and education. I was surprised to learn how little formal education some girls receive about their own bodies, and how this contributes to school dropouts and early pregnancies. Our conversation reminded me how important open, honest dialogue is and how necessary it is to create safe spaces where people can talk about taboo topics without shame.
My time in Kenya helped me realize that service learning isn’t about “saving” others—it’s about showing up, learning, and listening. At first, I felt helpless, like I wasn’t doing enough. But over time, I saw how even small gestures mattered. Painting walls, dancing with students, sharing art supplies, or simply being present with someone made a difference in their day. I wasn’t there to fix anything. I was there to witness, to learn, and to show that someone from halfway across the world cared.
I also saw the power of representation. Meeting a young female medical engineer who was only 20 or 21 years old completely challenged my assumptions about who gets to be in STEM. It was empowering to see women in roles of leadership and expertise, especially in a place where gender equity is still evolving.
Visiting the Maasai village was another pivotal experience. Their entire family, including the husband, wives, children, grandmother, and great-grandmother, welcomed us into their home and shared their daily life. I was surprised and moved to hear the father speak with pride about his daughter being in university. Just five years ago, he didn’t believe women should go to school, and now he couldn’t stop talking about her success. That moment spoke volumes about growth, change, and the impact of learning about different cultures.
Returning home has been bittersweet. Emotionally and psychologically, I feel both more rooted and more restless. Kenya taught me so much about the beauty of simplicity, the strength of community, and the deep value of being present. Now that I’m back, I see home differently. I want home to be more intentional, more compassionate, and more globally aware. But at the same time, I feel disconnected, almost like part of me is still there or is longing to be there.
As the memories begin to fade, I find myself clinging to the moments that changed me. The smiles of the girls and boys I was chasing around during their recess. The amazing feeling of interacting and talking to the women who made handmade beadwork, and how it was so deeply tied to that woman’s life story. The dance lesson where I forgot to feel self-conscious and just danced together. These are the things I want to hold onto.
I’m not sure I’ll ever see “home” the same way again. But maybe that’s a good thing. Kenya gave me a new lens to look through, one that sees connection where I used to see difference, and hope where I used to see limits.
This service-learning experience has shaped who I am in ways I’m still discovering. I’ve grown as a communicator, a community member, and a global citizen. I’ve learned that the most powerful thing you can do is show up with an open heart and a willingness to learn. I’ve seen what it means to live with less, to give with more, and to try to build bridges across oceans.
This trip pushed me to look at myself not just as a student or a visitor, but as someone with a responsibility to contribute thoughtfully and respectfully to the world around me. I’ve returned with more questions than answers, like about inequality, about access to care and education, about what it truly means to make a difference, but that’s a sign of growth. I now realize that service is not always about immediate results. Sometimes it’s about planting seeds, having conversations, being part of small change, or simply bearing witness to someone else’s truth.
Emotionally, I feel stretched in the best possible way. I feel inspired by the people I met, grounded in the relationships I built, and more determined than ever to pursue a career in healthcare that is inclusive, global, and compassionate. I understand now that effective communication goes far beyond language; it’s more about respect, empathy and love.
