Rolling Chapatti

Day 17 – 

"God broke my heart for them."

The days were quickly passing and I would feel a sense of urgency with each sunrise. My relationships with the teachers were growing stronger and with it came more of an ease to interact with the students. Grace started working as the administrative assistant at the school and Bea and I continued to help teachers grade exams. On occasion, I would be appointed to sit and watch a class while the students took their exam. How affective it was for the kids (watoto), I’m not entirely sure. I heard whispers and giggles while I was writing in my journal at the head desk. The afternoon was spent in the staff room; it was a wonderful way to observe the way the staff communicated with each other and an opportunity to learn more about culture. It would often leave me giggling especially when one of the young teachers purposefully provoked the older adults. I continued to teach some guitar to Teacher Mark that day before heading back home with Mama Nora.
Matatu rides are always interesting from the American perspective. I would get many looks. One man asked Nora why she brought a mzungu on a bus, why I was not in Mombasa (the touristy city), and why I didn’t use a fancy car. If you learn one thing from reading this, remember that what you assume isn’t always the truth; particularly when talking about people from another culture. It goes both ways. At home, I helped Mama roll out chapatti (a tortilla like bread), and Tatu and I danced with the music, giggled freely, and said each other’s name playfully.  We then joined Mama and Pastor for a “family” Bible study reading Ezra before bedtime. Being open and honest with them was one of the biggest reliefs of my trip. They were so generous, caring, and truly made an effort to understand us as we were trying to understand them.