The Transition Artist

My feet are covered in dirt and my hair is officially not looking so hot. Let’s be honest, I’m dirty. Each morning after I wake up, I wash myself in a basin of hot water. So the good news is I don’t have any kind of funky body smells going on (also due to the fact that I’ve almost been knocked out by some serious B.O. on the bus, so my value for deodorant has hugely increased), but the bad news is there’s only so much water in a basin and when you’re the only white girl in the house nobody feels your pain when your hair starts to get a lil greasy and you don’t quite have enough water to wash it. I brought dry shampoo, though, so don’t worry all you “I bathe thoroughly daily, sometimes twice”-ers who are probably getting grossed out reading this. But hey, this is life in Kibera. It’s different and it’s dirtier than usual, but it’s full of a whole lot more than just a few baths and much more dirt.

I started helping out at a local school called Jeremich this week. It’s a little private school about a 5 minute walk from the house. I started on Monday and since then have been thrown into the metaphorical deep end more times than I care to count. The deep end is basically the only part of the swimming pool anyone pushes me into these days. There is no “hey what do you think about easing into this little by little?” There’s only “hey you can swim right?!” And then there I am.

So I walked into a classroom of the sweetest looking 2nd graders you’ve ever seen this past Monday, so ridiculously excited to be working with the younger kids. One thing you should know about me is that I adore children. Love them. And my little Kenyans with their funny word choices, Kiswahili lessons they give me, and cute accents are my favorite kind of children. Until they’re bad, which, what with me treading water in the deep end over here, has happened every day.

The first day I showed up I was handed a piece of chalk and an English textbook and instructed to look over the lesson before I stood before the class (in five minutes, mind you) and taught said lesson. I laughed because I thought the teacher was joking. She wasn’t. And then right after she threw me to the lions (which actually went pretty well this first time), she informed me that she would be leaving to teach another class and that I’d be teaching science. Anyone who knows me well should start laughing at this point, because science was never my strong suit. Luckily the kids are only in second grade so I only taught them simple lessons that were totally doable.

Before I go any further, I want to bust one quick myth: “Americans make great teachers in African schools because the children are so excited to have you teaching them that they pay extra attention.” Maybe this is true with the older kids (which it has proved to be, in my case), but the second graders basically hazed me as a teacher..

As soon as the teacher left and I became the sole keeper of the classroom things got rowdy quick. Now, keep in mind first that, although I have some teaching experience, I’m not a teacher nor am I in school to become one. I tried every trick known to elementary school to get these kids to settle down and stop getting up out of their seats and talking long enough to at least get through part of the lesson.. But nothing worked. Literally nothing. I later came to find that Kenyan teachers are not at all like American teachers, in that they are able to maintain control because the kids are afraid of them. Whereas they’re definitely not afraid of me.. Apparently physical punishment isn’t illegal here (they pinch, hit, and use canes apparently sometimes).. But I don’t think I have it in me to ever beat a child with a cane.. Fancy that.

The class was given a stern warning with a few threats involved by the teacher before she left me on my own with them again yesterday morning. The kids heeded her warning this time and were great. Today I showed up to a brand new challenge, though. The teacher was gone when I arrived in class, and the class said she had left to go teach her other high school class. This is normal, so I figured she’d come back soon. After about an hour passed though and the class was finished working, I realized she wasn’t coming back after 30 minutes like normal. I would have to teach, lesson plans or not. I won’t go into extreme detail, but the class was so wild I tried literally every teaching method in the book to settle them down, but after spending the next three hours working with them, asking them to settle down, putting kids in corners, and even raising my voice as I tried to teach them English and Social Studies lessons I was making up on the spot, I was so tired and frustrated I swore I’d never go back to that class again.. I even walked to the principle’s office and told him I didn’t think I could do work with them anymore. But lo and behold, God has a funny way of working with you and against you at the same time just for the challenge, and I came back that afternoon and the principle said, “oh you’re back! We were thinking you could go to class 2?” (Second grade…) “You’re kidding..” I thought. “Surely you’re joking..” Nope! So that’s where I’ll be again tomorrow. Teaching some hooligans. I took some time to think it over, though, and I’m okay with that. It’s really hard, and I come home really tired, but the day flies by and every day those kids stay after to play with me and want to hug me and love me and walk home holding my hands (or any finger they can share).

The number one thing I’ve learned on this trip is that patience and gratitude are much harder to come by than I could ever have imagined coming into this. I’m learning each day to find something to write down and thank God for. Sometimes I find myself thanking Him for the messiness and the confusion and the difficulties, because without them the good wouldn’t feel so very good. Without the dirt, feeling clean wouldn’t be so precious, but something I take for granted. If there was running water, I might not appreciate the waiting and the value of the water I do have. There are quite a few things that you learn when you’re stripped of most everything that’s comfortable and usual. In the time I’ve been here, though, I’ve already started to understand another culture, learn some Kiswahili, and grow enormously. It’s the biggest blessing I’ve struggled with, and I wouldn’t take it back for anything.