A Sad Announcement

It is with profound sadness that we announce the death of our beloved director, Lynet Anyango.  She passed away suddenly at home on Sunday, September 13, 2020. Lynet is survived by her husband, Boaz, her two brothers, a sister, and a large extended family. She is also survived by the 18 Jemo House children and her TLC team, all of whom loved her deeply — like family.

Eddah (left), Me and Lynet visiting Eddah's school

Lynet was an essential part of the Too Little Children team ever since its creation in 2013.  She worked with her heart, advocated fiercely for the Jemo House children, and fought tirelessly to provide enough for the child who has too little. To say that TLC would not be what it is today without Lynet is a fact; to say that she will be deeply missed is a massive understatement. 

We, Lynet’s team, will continue her work: to be an example of God’s great love to his children, especially those in need, and to give them the knowledge, tools and ideals to change this world for the better. We will do our best to honor and match the passion and dedication she gave to her work, her loved ones, and her life everyday.

For those of you who knew Lynet, you know her passing is nothing short of a great and terrible loss for the rest of us still on Earth. For those of you who never had the chance to know her, here is a brief sliver of who she was. I hope it lets you know a little of her heart and her spirit. I hope it makes you ache a little, wishing you had been able to meet her. And I hope it inspires you to be more, like she was. 

Lynet and Mama Dave shelling maize

I first met Lynet in 2010 when I was working at Maseno Mission Hospital with Dr. Gerry Hardison. I admired this fiery young woman who had become his assistant and right hand by proving her calm head, her thoughtful heart, and her unwavering grit. I marveled at the way she learned the complex inner workings of the hospital and had earned the respect of those with far more experience and training than herself. She was wry, witty and determined. When Dr. Hardison retired and I started Too Little Children, I only knew two things for certain; Kenya was exactly where I was supposed to be, and I needed Lynet to be a part of my team. 

I can picture Lynet now, sitting under the mango tree in our front yard as she was on my last visit. She is helping us shell the maize corn-or remove it from the cob-after it has been harvested and dried. She answers a call from a social worker from the children’s department. She doesn’t stop shelling while she talks. She smiles as she watches Janet and Sellah jumping rope, giggling as it keeps catching on their ankles, and continues shelling. She reminds Brian as he dashes by, to use soap this time when he goes in to bathe-not just water.  She continues to shell. She tells me Millie has already grown out of her school uniform and Arnold has torn through all of his socks. Again.  She continues to shell.  She explains when we will need to get fertilizer this season for the fields and how many backpacks we need for the next school term.  She continues to shell.  She reminds me when to renew the children’s health insurance and tells me of her most recent visits to the older children in boarding school.  She continues to shell.  She explains how many chicks we need to hatch to keep enough egg-laying hens around and where the best place to get school supplies is at the Luanda market.  She continues to shell.  She reminds the kids to bring the laundry in from the line before the evening rains come.  She continues to shell. She tells me which children got malaria last month and who needs to see a dentist.  She continues to shell.   I tease her about something I can't even remember now, and she responds with her razor wit and dry sense of humor, never missing a beat.  She continues to shell.  She informs me of which sponsorship referrals are genuine and which are trying to take advantage.  She has the uncanny ability to understand what was really going on when I completely miss it.  She continues shelling, and it isn't until fat raindrops start hitting our arms that we grab the plastic tub and carry the remaining maize inside.  

It isn't until later, when this afternoon has become a memory, that I take the time to marvel at the number of moving pieces she helped to keep spinning.  It wasn't until I was faced with the loss of her that I fully appreciated the depth at which she was woven into the tapestry of our family and this mission.  She will be missed. Daily. But she is still in Jemo House, and she will continue to be a driving force behind our work as we continue on without her by our side.

~Jessie