Refine this essay, making it more moving. While growing up, I always went to Nairobi with my parents who have their professional commitments in this region. I lived and laughed there. Every Friday night, the locals would make wugali and share it with me. I became familiar with the beautiful, yet complex tapestry of East African life. With every visit, I was woven deeper into its fabric.
One memory still looms large. At seven, when I passed the east gate of Kibera slum, a swarm of bare-footed children surrounded our car and shouted to sell their rabbits. One child with curled hair stared at my watch and asked, “Can you give me your watch?” I felt sorry but also afraid. Acting on a child’s instinct, I slipped them some money through the slightly opened window, refused the rabbits, and fled. 
As years went by, this memory wouldn’t escape my mind. My naive gesture of giving the money and sending away the kids left an indelible mark on my consciousness. I wanted to help. 
Gathering a bunch of peers with inspiring visions for Africa, I founded “Nexus” in 2019. This non-profit student organization was my way of channeling youthful idealism into tangible help. We tried several things. From popularizing scientific knowledge to raising money through a school bakery sale, no project was too small, I thought. 
After we carefully selected life essentials with the fund we raised, we delivered them to the local charity center in Nairobi. All 68 children stood in a row to welcome us, singing “Jasmine,” a well-known Chinese song, with the director of the center enthusiastically conducting on the side. Hearing the kids mechanically singing the rehearsed lyrics of gratitude, I was lost for words. They repeated the song three times, and that was the longest four minutes I’d ever experienced. With the children’s eyes on us, unsettling questions dawned upon me. Were we addressing their real needs? Or were we merely offering short-lived comforts, no different from the big corporate media shows?
My efforts and frustrations seemed like a ripple in time, fading fast. As individuals, how can we make any difference?
One day, I had a chance to visit the ballet school of Project Elimu, an NGO offering free arts education for children in Kibera. When the music started, the kids jumped in circles elegantly, glowing with vitality and self-confidence. Michael, the founder, shared his insights and redefined my understanding of charity. He emphasized that to assist people on this land, one must rise above mere good intentions. Kindness and idealism were not enough. Sustainable charity requires a practical understanding of local realities.
Bearing this in mind, I gave it a third try. While teaching at St. Nicholas School, I observed many children drinking ink from a ditch, crawling on the ground, and shouting all the time. One of the kids Mohammed would stare at me sincerely and keep repeating, “I love Hugo; he is my best friend.” I was equally heartbroken and perplexed by what I saw. As I dug into it, I came to know that those kids suffer from ADHD and autism. Their parents, perhaps bound by misinformation or social stigma, were reluctant to seek professional help. Since I’m not an expert, I contacted the Kenya Institute of Special Education and initiated a partnership. The professionals at KISE provided specialized training for the schoolteachers, and nearly 200 children benefitted from the initiative. My efforts paid off, and I felt really content. 
However, immediately after I left Nairobi this summer, the partnership ended. This time, I didn’t lose hope. 
Reflecting on my journey here, I gradually realized the myriad complexities that underlie charitable endeavors. Despite every volunteer’s dedication, we had to navigate the blurry lines separating pure altruism from the pragmatic necessities of sustaining a charity. Unadulterated charity may not exist, but individual efforts are not negligible. 
I might not have made a huge difference this time, but it doesn’t mean I never will.