Day 12 – I have a lot of catching up to do on this blog because I’m on day 12 out of 49…
“He is worthy to be praised. We prayed ‘the Kenyan way’ where everyone prays all at once. Voices raised in prayer. It is a beautiful sound.”
The day was Friday; our second day in Kwale and at Mwangaza Visionary School. Overall, the day held less culture shock and after some of the day passed, I was learning to not worry about interpreting the swirls of Kiswahili circling around me. It still made me feel uncomfortable when the teachers would talk in the staff room without acknowledging Bea and me. They were such expressive and intense conversationalists. This was the day I made more of an effort to eat as much as possible and ask more questions when I started to feel overwhelmed. My determination continued to crescendo throughout the day.
After a big breakfast, we rode to school on motorbikes again which was my new favorite thing. Boda-bodas aren’t the safest taxis to take in Kenya, but the thrill captivated me while I took in every piece of scenery. People would point and stare, children would call out “mzungu” and run alongside us – I was convinced that I wouldn’t be a good celebrity…I didn’t like all the attention.
We got to the school and split up so we could watch how the teachers did devotions with the students and then I was swept up to help Madame Purity with her KG2 class. As I walked down the side of the building along the classroom windows, I heard the stirring of curious students whispering at me in excited anticipation. Little heads peaked out of the doorway and shy, but eager, eyes gaped at my person approaching. Then I stepped into the second to last classroom where my heart melted as I gazed on the precious miracles before me making my way to sit at the desk with Madame. She taught a lesson then gave the learners some work to do in their small karatasi (paper) books while we talked. Madame Purity asked me many questions about America and how schools worked, how different it is, and allowed me to contradict her misconceptions about the States. She was so good humored and I enjoyed talking with her. I asked her about more Kiswahili words and she wrote them down in my notebook with a satisfied acceptance. I knew she would be a wonderful friend.
At 10 am, we broke for chai and the students grabbed the bowls they brought from home to get their porridge. “They are so skinny.” Mama Nora, again, brought Bea and me a “snack” and would do everything for us. I almost felt like a baby as she prepared our chai and poured the water for us to wash our hands and my whole being reluctantly held back my independent urges. Bea and I shared our individual experiences, findings, and feelings as we packed our tummies before going back to the classrooms. M. Purity and I graded more of the student’s work and shared more of our lives. I learned a lot about her and her life.
Lunch came too soon as far as my appetite was concerned. I made more of an effort to intermingle with the teachers and longed to interact with the students I observed out the doorway playing their games. Mama Nora asked me to help her in her KG1 classroom after eating and I gladly agreed. It was so wonderful to be around her and Pastor all day; to have that security and constancy. Mama put a stack of books in front of me after I greeted the students with a high-five. They loved it and I wanted so badly to transfer the love in my heart from my hands onto theirs. Being a teacher in Kenya makes for more work in some ways because I hand-wrote worksheets and graphic organizers into each and every karatasi book so Mama could assess her students. Their supplies are limited and so precious. My attention was instantly drawn to the pencils which were used until they became stubs unfit for the tiniest fingers. The students sharpened them with a small razor which not only consumed time, but it was dangerous.
I loved watching Mama teach the little ones. She had a difficult job because most of the students know their mother tongue, which may or may not be Kiswahili, and required more effort on her part (hand motions, showing, etc.) to help them understand. The education system here would call her an equivalent of an “English as a Second Language (ESL)” teacher.
While Mama and I watched her students nap on the classroom floor, she asked me to prepare "a word" for the Friday afternoon staff devotions. The whole group of wazungu on my team was warned that we would be asked to “share a word” anytime and anywhere, so don’t be surprised. Well, I was surprised anyway and instantly got nervous. It was an intimidating idea to entertain when I wasn’t even sure the rest of the staff accepted me as an observer and, not to mention, a teacher of God’s Word. Mama allowed me to sit in the staff room to prepare something for an hour – this was not the first time I would encounter Mama Nora’s understanding and it blew me away leaving gratitude behind. The bench in the staffroom creaked as I tried not to wiggle from my uneasy concentration while I flipped pages in my Bible back and forth praying that God would reveal to me the passage I would use. God’s timing and provision, though hard to submit to, is always a matter of surrendering the anxiety and control.
I sent prayers up asking for guidance. Mark 10 (starting in verse 16) caught my attention: the sower and the seeds. After reading it, I realized how important the teachers at Mwangaza really were in the lives of their students and even though this passage takes on a different interpretation most of the time, it was still true in this instance. The teachers were planting seeds in the lives of students. Some may not be affected by it and some may allow their lives to be fully swept up into the arms of God and thus multiplied.
Bea and I timidly walked into the chapel and waited for the other staff members. But as soon as everyone was present, they started lifting up praises with their voices in the echoing emptiness. The raw harmonies and blend of intricate melodies captured my heart. Watching the teachers worship in Kiswahili was one of my favorite memories that I will remember for the rest of my life. Clapping hands, swaying steps, and faces raised to heaven are images of genuine worship. I sang along when I could, when I remembered that I shouldn’t be entranced in the scene before me and entranced in the God around me. Then I was called up to share my devotional noticing two female students joining us in the church. I spoke as well as I could. The five minute presentation was all I had to give to the blank stares I was receiving. It was hard to read the expressions and I didn’t know what they thought until we prayed together at the end. They thanked the Lord for the message that reminded them what their purpose was. It hit me. It wasn’t about me and how well prepared I was. He used me. He spoke to the teachers with encouragement through me. It was about Him. Mama Nora led us out as we shook hands in farewell with everyone. As soon as the church was emptied, I heard the two girls singing at the top of their lungs as the echo reached those outside. I found they had come to receive Christ, but they haven’t shared that with their devout Islamic family and friends. Seeing that first hand touched me and broke my heart – they are risking everything at such a young age.
Boda-bodas took us back to Matuga village where Blessings greeted us with a smile and screech of delight. I greeted her and Josephine (we now called her Tatu) pointed me to the food on the table. Chai time. Always.
The evening ended like it always did during our time there: Chai, Pastor turning the television from music videos to the news, dinner in front of the TV, sharing our days, and bedtime where Bea usually ran back into the room after finding cockroaches in the bathroom.
