Days Without My Partner

Note: It has been a year, and I'm still not done... Hopefully, I will use my new-found free time to write more and finish the tale of this adventure.

 

Days 15 & 16 -  

Monday morning brought sickness upon my ministry partner. Bea decided to stay home from school to rest and get some water in her for the next couple of days. Her symptoms told me that she didn’t have Malaria...at this point anyway. As for me, my stomach was not happy and nausea was a common occurrence during these two days. Mama Nora made strong tea with ginger (chai without milk) for us before and after our evening meal. There was always the possibility of getting sick and we were on our guard for Malaria in general. Thankfully, after days of rest, Bea felt much better and both of us adjusted the time in which we took our “Malaria prevention” medication. The result was an absence of nausea and a cheery disposition. Honestly, it was difficult as well as frustrating to explain to my host parents that Bea and I would be fine. There is a very good reason for this; just like everything else in the culture I’ve learned about. People get sick (Malaria or not) so often and it usually requires going to the hospital, so naturally my host parents would be very concerned. Know this: Malaria is easily treated in African countries, but quite a few people don’t have the money to pay for it and die. It is a big deal.
Monday was the beginning of my first full week at Mwangaza school and I had so many things I wanted to accomplish during my fleeting time in Kwale – a checklist in my head. Bea’s absence planted worries in my head and Mama would update me on her condition when Tatu called from home. Yet, it was good that we were apart – we couldn’t hide behind one another. Teacher Fred would ask me how she was and Teacher Mark would tease me about our “American stomachs” being weak. It took all I had not to respond with some sass – respect came first. Mama would generally defend us as quickly as the remarks were shot our way before I could decide if I was offended or not.

In general, I began to feel more at ease with the teachers as I continued to get to know them and the students flocked around me more. The connections were becoming more deep and meaningful. I still felt their (teachers and students) watchful eyes on me constantly, but I was learning not to focus on that and focus on them as individuals. The students would point and laugh (about what? I still have no idea). There is no denying that I was treated differently and it was a lesson that has stuck with me since.

It was exam week, so both days I was asked to grade the exams (something I definitely knew how to do) and take the students through reviews while the teachers had some rest. My throat throbbed at the end of reviewing because I was yelling so the students could understand me through my accent. That was my first “teaching” experience in front of a classroom, ever. Devotions were taught for the upper grades and teachers also during this time. Being a daunting task, God provided my topics and I was learning more and more how to listen to the Spirit’s promptings. He was speaking through me and I was submitting to Him. It wasn’t about my ability to teach, it was His power. The churches in the States and the people in them expect theology and profound thoughts when others teach from the Bible. In Kenya, the people just wanted God’s Word; no fancy words or profound thoughts, nor interesting stories. They wanted God’s words no matter who it came from, no matter what schooling they had. This concept isn’t thought about much here.

In addition to reviewing, I helped Nora in her classroom. When she left the room, the kindergarten students swarmed me, touching my hair and pushing to get as close to me as they possibly could. They couldn’t understand a word I said, but I didn’t let that stop me from giving them high5’s and playing ring-around-the-rosy with them. My heart wanted to make a difference and let each of the school’s 300 students know they are loved. I quickly felt overwhelmed. 300 is a big number.

School came to an end. Teacher Mark had come to me earlier and asked for guitar lessons, so he tracked me down, grabbed my guitar and we sat outside the church. Instantly, we were crowded by curious students. Generally, I’ve never felt worthy to play the guitar in front of people nonetheless teach someone how to play it. Timidly, I taught him a few cords and showed him a strumming pattern under the watchful eyes of students. Lessons for Teacher Mark only happened a few times after school. Once, he left me with the crowd of little ones to find some music he wanted to play. The kiddos touched the guitar with their small fingers exploring the instrument. Smiling, I started playing random chords and it became a game right away. They would dance until the music stopped, they would giggle abundantly and resume dancing with the music. My heart sung with joy and I couldn’t help giggling myself. Then Mama Nora came to find me. It was time to go home and I was anxious to see how my partner was feeling.

We took a matatu home that day. I cannot remember if I have described what it is like to take a matatu, so I’ll do my best to relay the experience to you now. A matatu is one of the common forms of transportation in Kenya. Imagine a 15 passenger van stuffed with 20 people stopping to pick up more people. At 10 ksh, you get to sit very close to strangers in a hot vehicle. Needless to say, it was a very memorable experience every time I was in one. Crowded is an understatement. Complaining doesn’t feel right, though, because I had Mama or Tatu there to lead and protect me from prying eyes.

At home, I was greeted by Blessings’ squeals and Tatu’s smiles. We helped Grace move to a small apartment across the main street in our village of Matuga with joy. She was quickly becoming a wonderful friend. Finally, before showers and bedtime, we laughed with Pastor at a Hispanic soap opera dubbed in Swahili (very popular in Kenya), and we had a family Bible study on the book of Ezra. My heart was full and I couldn’t have been more blessed at the end of the day.