Sasa means "hey", an informal greeting you can use for peers.
Day 11 - part 2
As I sat talking with Madame about my country and hers, the students all starred at me periodically, whispered about the mzungu with red hair, flashed me smiles, and crowded around me to grade their work when called upon to do so. Big, beautiful eyes, they were. Precious. All of them were very well behaved, really. And when they were asked a question that they got right, they would chant, “Well done, well done! [Name of student] is a very, very good [boy/girl]. Tippy ta, tippy ta, up, up, up! And a little kiss, mwah!” They would also start the day with a call-and-response:
Caller – God is good!
Students – All the time!
Caller – All the time!
Students – God is good!
All – Because that is His nature!
Those made me smile and I will always remember their chants.
Their uniforms were baggy on their skinny bodies and their wrists and ankles were boney. I learned that many of them don’t go home to dinner every night, and there is one student that walks many miles a day starting at 4am to get to school around 7am. The school provides porridge for the students that contain a lot of nutrients and fat in the mornings, and rice and beans for their lunch. That was part of the appeal to their families – the students are being fed. This school, even though I was verging on culture shock, was a light to the students and the community in their darkness. Think about it: children from Muslim homes being immersed in a Christian culture every day as they are being fed physically and spiritually. Wow. It still blows my mind. This ministry started as a medical mission and after years of growing opposition from the Muslims in Kwale district, it is now a school that is reaching the children and eventually the parents for Christ. I definitely saw the Lord’s hand in this school. After watching Madame Purity's class for a half hour, all the kindergarteners went outside for their exercise with the teachers. Bea and I had a blast jumping and running with them. They also played a game that had something to do with sending a letter and it was similar to our duck-duck-goose. I wish I wrote it down...
The next part of our day was one of the hardest for me. We walked to the staff room around 10am for a chai break with the rest of the teachers while the students collected their porridge. I entered the room and smiled at the inhabitants but I wondered what they thought of having two American girls among them as they reluctantly smiled back. Mama Nora sat us down (she went out of her way to get us a bench inside to sit on), put two bowls of mandazi (like a flat, triangular donut but not as sweet) in front of us, and prepared two cups of chai while we waited and I surpassed the urge to help her. I knew in my head that we were supposed to eat all of the food put in front of us, but it was the most difficult thing I had experienced in Kenya so far. I really appreciated their hospitality and they treated us so well. However, I kept looking outside at the children who didn’t always have three meals a day and the delicious food almost choked me as I tried to chew and swallow. I did the best I could, but felt terrible when Mama looked at us in disappointment and heard the other teachers talking around us rapidly in Kiswahili. Hello, culture shock. I don’t think we have been formally introduced before. I don't like you very much. Lord, make it go away!
Bea felt the same way and we shared knowing glances as we waited for chai break to be over. Teachers came in and out, students stopped by the open door to satisfy their curious eyes, and I was silently praying that whole morning - 7:30 to 10:30. The emotions I went through that morning were overwhelming. There was a desire to escape somewhere to recollect my thoughts and make them clear so I could understand the part of that culture I couldn’t grasp. What I knew I should have done and what I did was a reflection of the conflict inside me. And it was strong, that feeling. My words seem to leave out most of the emotion, but culture shock isn’t something you can describe - it is something that has to be experienced.
By God’s mercy, our friend Evans came to the school to take us and Pastor to a mission in Banga (west of Kwale). With him was Mama Nora’s sister, Sally; a youth pastor; and Grace, a new administrator for Mwangaza who was closer to my age. As soon as Bea and I greeted the others and got into the van, I could feel her relax and I took a deep breath. This was the "escape" I needed to break from the confusion. We went down Kwale road for a while and I listened to the conversation around me, occasionally contributing while my eyes gazed at the landscape passing by the window. The road went from asphalt to dirt as we went through the actual town of Kwale and into a national park (Shimba Hills Elephant Sanctuary). Our senses heightened as Bea and I watched baboons stare back at the van while we hoped to see the magnificent African elephants. My giggles came out during this 2 hour ride as we experienced the bumpiest dirt road I have ever been on in my life and Sally’s reaction to it was were most of my giggles were directed. Sally reminded me of my grandmother when she plays video games.
The ride was eye opening as we saw the scenery change from humid, luscious green to dry brown. Pastor explained that many people west of Kwale don’t have enough clean water and have to resort to the dirty stream water for survival. This was an area affect by the East African drought. Our eyes witnessed skinny children gathering brown water in a small river and skinny cows grazing on short grasses. Finally, we arrived at the mission in Banga - a house, a church, and a water well. We met the pastor and his family who immediately showed us their property and the new well that had been dug where many people gather to receive clean water for their families. Grace and Evans asked us questions as we walked; I was so thankful for their immediate friendship. They were approachable and I related to them better than the others. It is a blessing that may seem small to you, but it meant so much to me to have those friends among us.
After being welcomed to Banga with a meal of Kuku (chicken) and chapatti (flat bread, like a tortilla) that implied that we were honored guests, we started the long, bumpy ride back to Matuga village. After having missed the elephants earlier, Pastor and the elders in the van were so intent on finding one for us to see. My heart jumped as the big, grey ears of an African elephant emerged through the foliage. "YES! So much more amazing than at the zoo, and even the ones at the zoo don't have the big ears!!" Mama Nora had dinner ready when we arrived back home and little Blessings greeted us with a smile. She finally started to break away from her shyness and I started to realize how much of a literal blessing she would be to me during my time there. Children her age are practically the same around the world as they are just beginning to learn their own cultural norms, and that was a relief to have that stability in a culture that had differences from my own.
After the van left for Mombasa, taking our new friends and acquaintances with it, Mama and Pastor sat with us as we had chai while Josephine cleaned up. I knew Bea was as tired as I was and we were in need of our own private conversation to debrief our day. Then Pastor asked us how our day was, how we were feeling. My whole being was instantly full of gratitude as I answered honestly about getting used to the culture and briefly spoke of the culture shock. That instant confirmed that my host family was special and they truly cared for us no matter how many cultural mistakes we had made and would make. We prayed as a “family” and were dismissed for bed. As we prepared, Bea and I whispered about our feelings and then feel asleep under our mosquito net after I wrote in my journal and prayed. The Muslim call to prayer from a near by mosque rang in my ears and my eyelids fluttered to close.
Feb 11, 2012
Mwangaza Visionary School
Day 11 - part 1
Yes, I was nervous about sermons and I wanted to learn Kiswahili to be somewhat of an overachiever; a characteristic of mine that only shows up in some areas of my life when I want it to. “Doing” is my specialty and it immediately showed itself in my head: “What should I be doing right now? What am I expected to do? What can I do to be accepted?” Weaknesses, I was told, show up strong and hard when you are put into certain situations like living in another culture, for example. I was quick to understand (subconsciously) that fact, but not really accept it until later.
My sleepy ministry partner and I were woken up by Mama Nora early that morning. Usually, you call the woman of the house “Mama” and then the name of her first child. However, “Mama Blessings” was too much of a mouthful, so we called her “Mama Nora”. Looking back, we probably should have asked her if it was alright to call her that…. Anyway, our morning began by taking warm showers (a bucket of water and a ladle or cup) and then we would head to the school to observe what goes on there and to be introduced. I ate my big breakfast, brushed my teeth outside (it was fun to practice my spitting skills), and waited for Mama and Pastor to tell us what was next.
Josephine (also called Tatu; it means “three” in Kiswahili) would stay home with Blessings while all of us went to the school every day. The two year-old was still warming up to me and would hide behind her family when I tried to interact with her. Pastor approached me and asked if taking a motorbike to school would be fine. "Um...yes. Wait, what? " My heart dropped a little because my mind immediately had an image of myself trying to drive a motorbike and ending up tasting the dirt of the Coast before I actually got to experience it. Thankfully, two guys on a motorbike (boda-boda, taxi) showed up and all Bea and I had to do was ride in the back while Mama and Pastor followed us on their own. The school was about 3 kilometers away from the house in Matuga so walking early in the mornings wasn’t an option, really. The ride was wonderful, though, and I embraced the thrill of it all. The cool humid air struck my face and whipped my hair as my eyes darted side to side. It was green and lush with mud huts dotting the rolling hills and the people on the side of the road stared or pointed and shouted, “Mzungu! Mzungu!” And there went another piece of my heart - I saw it plant itself into the red earth.
The boda-boda took me right up to the school. I was thankful it wasn’t too long of a ride because I was awkwardly carrying my guitar the whole way. For safety reasons it would be stored in the Headmaster’s office and would be locked in every night. Everyone stared at Bea and me as we got off the taxis and followed Mama through the entrance way onto the grounds of Mwangaza Visionary School. There were covered areas used for the kitchen, two bathrooms separated by gender, and then the classrooms for grades K-8 set in an “L” shaped around the open courtyard. Immediately, we met the Headmaster and head teacher who were very welcoming and friendly, and then we were suddenly put in front of all the students at assembly to greet them and be introduced. It all seemed like a blur and I didn’t know quite what to say.
To this day, I have no idea what I said in my individual greeting to the mixture of excited (the young ones) and cynical (generally they were the older ones) students. It was a good, though rushed, introduction. Then we walked into the staff room that held four desks covered in paperwork to greet the whole staff team. They weren’t smiling. At that time it was intimidating to me, but after a couple weeks I understood their skepticism toward two Americans interrupting their routine to “help” and having a fear of possible changes. Each teacher was introduced with what they taught: as soon as the names were said, I forgot them. My brain was wheeling at a crazy speed trying to observe everything as I held a friendly smile. Wherever we traveled on school grounds, I felt like I was clinging to my host parents the whole time like a child who has never been in the middle of a crowd, and that didn’t change when we were brought to the chapel to observe how the teachers gave devotionals; first to the upper grades and then to the lower grades. In Kenya, they call grades “classes” or “standards”, and the kindergarten classes were in three levels labeled KG1, KG2, and KG3. Bea and I would take over devotionals in the mornings before school started. She would have the lower classes the first week and I would take the upper until we switched the next week. ”What will I teach on for devotionals? Um…I’ll think about that later. First, I have a whole lot of observing to do.”
Our “job” that day and the day after (Thursday and Friday, I believe) was to just observe what goes on at Mwangaza school and how things are run. I found that, even though I was schooled at home until college, there were differences in the teaching and school culture that took me aback. Meanwhile, I asked Pastor if Bea and I could help some of the teachers. He raised his eyebrows with a bit of surprise, an expression I welcomed (I hope I wasn’t too forward) from him during our stay, and he led us to rooms (KG2, KG3). Bea went with Madame Phoebe and I was welcomed by Madame Purity whose smile made me smile every time I encountered it. She taught a lesson on math and set the students to work while she insisted that I sit in her comfy chair. I have never been that comfortable with people giving up their comforts for me or letting me rest while they do all the work so I reluctantly sat in the chair offered. That was one of my biggest struggles for me in Kwale – being served, receiving gifts, and being the guest of honor. I walked into a culture who’s people are extremely hospitable and who would be offended if I rejected it. I had a lot of “letting go” to do.
”We got in at night as the moon shone, but we couldn’t take in all the beauty that was Kwale. I feel like I need to spend time learning Kiswahili or working on sermons. Here we go, Lord.”
Yes, I was nervous about sermons and I wanted to learn Kiswahili to be somewhat of an overachiever; a characteristic of mine that only shows up in some areas of my life when I want it to. “Doing” is my specialty and it immediately showed itself in my head: “What should I be doing right now? What am I expected to do? What can I do to be accepted?” Weaknesses, I was told, show up strong and hard when you are put into certain situations like living in another culture, for example. I was quick to understand (subconsciously) that fact, but not really accept it until later.
My sleepy ministry partner and I were woken up by Mama Nora early that morning. Usually, you call the woman of the house “Mama” and then the name of her first child. However, “Mama Blessings” was too much of a mouthful, so we called her “Mama Nora”. Looking back, we probably should have asked her if it was alright to call her that…. Anyway, our morning began by taking warm showers (a bucket of water and a ladle or cup) and then we would head to the school to observe what goes on there and to be introduced. I ate my big breakfast, brushed my teeth outside (it was fun to practice my spitting skills), and waited for Mama and Pastor to tell us what was next.
Josephine (also called Tatu; it means “three” in Kiswahili) would stay home with Blessings while all of us went to the school every day. The two year-old was still warming up to me and would hide behind her family when I tried to interact with her. Pastor approached me and asked if taking a motorbike to school would be fine. "Um...yes. Wait, what? " My heart dropped a little because my mind immediately had an image of myself trying to drive a motorbike and ending up tasting the dirt of the Coast before I actually got to experience it. Thankfully, two guys on a motorbike (boda-boda, taxi) showed up and all Bea and I had to do was ride in the back while Mama and Pastor followed us on their own. The school was about 3 kilometers away from the house in Matuga so walking early in the mornings wasn’t an option, really. The ride was wonderful, though, and I embraced the thrill of it all. The cool humid air struck my face and whipped my hair as my eyes darted side to side. It was green and lush with mud huts dotting the rolling hills and the people on the side of the road stared or pointed and shouted, “Mzungu! Mzungu!” And there went another piece of my heart - I saw it plant itself into the red earth.
The boda-boda took me right up to the school. I was thankful it wasn’t too long of a ride because I was awkwardly carrying my guitar the whole way. For safety reasons it would be stored in the Headmaster’s office and would be locked in every night. Everyone stared at Bea and me as we got off the taxis and followed Mama through the entrance way onto the grounds of Mwangaza Visionary School. There were covered areas used for the kitchen, two bathrooms separated by gender, and then the classrooms for grades K-8 set in an “L” shaped around the open courtyard. Immediately, we met the Headmaster and head teacher who were very welcoming and friendly, and then we were suddenly put in front of all the students at assembly to greet them and be introduced. It all seemed like a blur and I didn’t know quite what to say.
To this day, I have no idea what I said in my individual greeting to the mixture of excited (the young ones) and cynical (generally they were the older ones) students. It was a good, though rushed, introduction. Then we walked into the staff room that held four desks covered in paperwork to greet the whole staff team. They weren’t smiling. At that time it was intimidating to me, but after a couple weeks I understood their skepticism toward two Americans interrupting their routine to “help” and having a fear of possible changes. Each teacher was introduced with what they taught: as soon as the names were said, I forgot them. My brain was wheeling at a crazy speed trying to observe everything as I held a friendly smile. Wherever we traveled on school grounds, I felt like I was clinging to my host parents the whole time like a child who has never been in the middle of a crowd, and that didn’t change when we were brought to the chapel to observe how the teachers gave devotionals; first to the upper grades and then to the lower grades. In Kenya, they call grades “classes” or “standards”, and the kindergarten classes were in three levels labeled KG1, KG2, and KG3. Bea and I would take over devotionals in the mornings before school started. She would have the lower classes the first week and I would take the upper until we switched the next week. ”What will I teach on for devotionals? Um…I’ll think about that later. First, I have a whole lot of observing to do.”
Our “job” that day and the day after (Thursday and Friday, I believe) was to just observe what goes on at Mwangaza school and how things are run. I found that, even though I was schooled at home until college, there were differences in the teaching and school culture that took me aback. Meanwhile, I asked Pastor if Bea and I could help some of the teachers. He raised his eyebrows with a bit of surprise, an expression I welcomed (I hope I wasn’t too forward) from him during our stay, and he led us to rooms (KG2, KG3). Bea went with Madame Phoebe and I was welcomed by Madame Purity whose smile made me smile every time I encountered it. She taught a lesson on math and set the students to work while she insisted that I sit in her comfy chair. I have never been that comfortable with people giving up their comforts for me or letting me rest while they do all the work so I reluctantly sat in the chair offered. That was one of my biggest struggles for me in Kwale – being served, receiving gifts, and being the guest of honor. I walked into a culture who’s people are extremely hospitable and who would be offended if I rejected it. I had a lot of “letting go” to do.
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