”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.
No comments:
Post a Comment