We live here. We have completely settled in. We are finally immersed into this life. It’s strange feeling at home in a country thousands of miles away from our regular lives. Rationally I know how shocking and different daily life is here, but actually living it every day makes everything seem normal. Kira and I were remembering from our past trips that nothing quite hits you fully until you’re home. We are equally excited and nervous for going back. Halfway is coming up. We can barely believe it.
Another Sunday came and went. We went to church which is still so kindly spoken in both English and Swahili. We got to hear all the children singing, and then in true Kenyan fashion aggressively shook many hands. Then, as we were leaving Samson spontaneously announced- “Today, you will have a new driver!” Confused, the normal driver David climbed out of the drivers seat, and my stomach did cartwheels as I realized that he was talking about me. Everyone was laughing; half amused, half in disbelief that I was going to drive the blue van ( it’s more the size of a miniature school bus, although it felt like I was behind the wheel of a semi). Ever since they learned I could drive stick shift, they have been joking about me driving here. It had never been talked about seriously because the idea is so ridiculous. For them: it would be insane because white people never drive here in Kenya. And in these villages, or really anywhere outside of Nairobi, it is extremely rare to even see a women driving. So a white woman from America... never gonna happen. And from my perspective: ...The roads are dirt and rocks, with potholes the size of craters, often at a very intense incline. And they are tiny, barely fitting two cars, often we squeeze by other vehicles with less then two inches of room. And everyone drives fast, and motorcycles, people, cows, and chickens are constantly darting out in front of you. AND the drivers seat is the other side of the car, left hand stick shift, ...on the other side of the road. But no time to think about any of that! Because there I was in the drivers seat, disengaging the emergency break, and pulling out of the orphanage, in the rain. Of course there was no way I was going to pass up this opportunity to expand my international driving repertoire. As we were pulling out of the orphanage we would drive by different kids and they would look up and complete shock would pass across their faces only to be quickly replaced by explosive laughter. I myself could not stop laughing the entire drive home, it was surreal. I kept expecting for the driver to yell from the back seat, telling me to pull over. But he never did. And there I was driving through the town of Ogembo with Kira and Andy in the front seat. And the rest of the family cracking up in the back of the van. We created quite a scene, people normally stare once they see white people, or “mzungus” in the car. This time we left a ripple effect of double takes and shocked faces behind us as the little blue van kicked up dirt and made it’s way up the steep incline home. I got out of the car and I think it took a full five minutes for my brain and my left leg (very out of practice with the clutch) to actually realize what just happened. I didn’t hit any motorcycles, or tip the van or anything! Just when life started to feel normal, something new and crazy was thrown into the mix. Always keeping us on our toes.
The next day was Monday, September 1st. The first day back at school after everyones two week break. Kira and I woke up early, ready to take Gener (Gina), Helga, and Heather to their high school in Narok, 4 hours away. The trip was beautiful. I couldn’t take my eyes off the landscape. About halfway through our trip we started to leave the red earth roads, and lush-tropical-forested-exceptionally-green Rift Valley and enter into the dusty-cactus-populated-savannah of Masai land. Fences were replaced by cacti planted in rows, and circular mud huts with thatch roofs took the place of crumbling concrete houses. What we saw of the Masai tribe was that they are one of the Kenyan tribes that have not strayed very far towards Westernization. They live simply, off the land, herding their cows through the dust to the watering holes, resting underneath the umbrella-like African trees that seem to grow with the knowledge of how necessary shade is to escape the scorching sun. It is incredible how quickly the entire landscape and lifestyle changes within one country. Soon we had made it to the girls school. We passed through security at the gates and the girls all checked themselves in, excitedly greeting the friends they hadn’t seen in weeks. Kira and I followed Samson, Gener, Helga, Heather, and Dorothy into the main building of the school. We stopped quickly to compose ourselves after reading a sign that simply stated in bold font. “Are you lazy? Try a different school.” This was the first of many of the most incredibly blunt and strangely inspiration signs scattered across the campus. We caught up with the family and found ourselves stifling our laughter only to be told to enter the Principals office. Memories of high school flooded my brain and I could tell Kira was experiencing the same thing. After almost five minutes of pushing one another in front and debating who was going to go first, Dorothy bravely led the way and we were herded into the Principals office. All I could think about was the last time I was in the principals office at my high school... Pretty sure I was getting demerits for being late way too many times. Timeliness is not my forte. Even though it has been years since high school, AND we were visiting a school in a different country it, standing there in her office it still felt like we had done something wrong. She was very friendly, and we left, slightly hurried, successfully escaping any punishment we irrationally expected. Dorothy then led us around the campus, she was excited to show us her old stomping ground. She had graduated in excellent standing in 2011 and she was excited to reconnect with some of her favorite teachers. When we were done, one of Dorothy’s old teachers asked me what I had learned. And again with the flashbacks to high school. I felt like I was winging a speech that I had forgotten about and was completely unprepared for. The rusted gears in my brain turned slowly as my mouth was quickly cycling through all the filler words it could remember. Finally I managed to tell him that the inspirational quotes painted on the buildings were the highlight of our tour. He asked what my favorite one was. “A person who hates correction is stupid” was a definite crowd pleaser. But I responded with “A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver.” The irony hurt a little bit.
We then said good-bye to Gener, Helga, and Heather. Getting to know them was so much fun, and we already miss having them around. They are away at school most of the year, so we were so lucky to get as much time with them as we did. A short trip in the blue van brought us to downtown Narok where we did some shopping in the Masai market for traditional African jewelry and art. Tourists will pay almost anything, so as soon as they see the color of our skin they almost double their prices. Dorothy helped us by talking the prices down an incredibly substantial amount. Yet another reason we would be lost without her. The market was buzzing, the colorful beaded belts and ornate headdresses swung gently in the breeze, and the store owners cheerful bantering combined with the hum of the traffic made the market feel alive. Men and women alike worked on beading projects; hands whirring away as they chatted with the other store owners, or tried to catch your attention and draw you into their little shack. Finally, content with our gifts for family and friends back home we climbed in the van to start the four hour return journey. The scenery was just as visually stimulating on the ride home, and other then the fact that the seats are less-then-luxurious, and have a tendency to make you incredibly sore, it was a pleasant trip home through a mesmerizing rain storm.
When we arrived home Nicole ran up to me and asked if we were coming to the school the next day. She said that Joyce was asking where we were all day and that the kids miss us. I told her we missed them too and we’ll be back as soon as we get some other work done. That night I fell asleep so quickly, cozy and content. It was my birthday, and it had been an incredibly wonderful day.
One of the most important jobs we have to complete while here is to help create an exit plan for the children who are graduating/have graduated high school. On Tuesday we went to Kisii-town to visit three of the local colleges to gather information on the vocations offered at the different schools, and get some real numbers on costs to complete the different levels of education. The three schools we visited were: the Gusii Institute of Technology, The E-Smart Technical College, and We were also researching how much it would cost for the students to live in Kisii; food, clothing, and all other living expenses have to be calculated in. We are collecting as much data as possible to help HCIC get a good feel for the full price of college and vocational school to help figure out what we can offer to the graduates. It is pretty confusing because higher level education is done very differently then in America. But the admissions and registrars at each school spoke excellent English and were more then willing to help. It was like applying to college all over again. Actually though. At each school we would arrive, and then sit down with the registrar and somehow during the explanation of why we were there, the language barrier caused a problem and they always ended up thinking that we were the ones interested in applying. And let me tell you, these schools desperately wanted us to come. It probably looks pretty good to have foreigners coming to your school. As funny as it was to pretend to apply to each of these colleges it really helped us to get all the information we needed, and more. At Africa Nazarene University we had to wait for an armored truck from the bank protected by three men with guns to get loaded up before we could leave the parking lot. We had already visited the school, but while we were waiting two men came out and introduced themselves. First Patrick introduced himself to us, he worked in admissions at the college. And then his colleague “Noah, not the one that built the ark” introduced himself as a pastor, chaplain, and professor at the college. They chatted with us about where we were from and were excited that I had heard of their sister school Nazarene University, in America. They were so friendly, asking how we liked Kisii, they then spent the next ten minutes trying to convince us to go to their college and to “come by and say hi whenever we were in town!” We returned home loaded with pamphlets and notes on prices from the three schools, it was a productive day.
That evening I was banned to my room and could hear Kira and Dorothy laughing in the kitchen. Later, I was led blindfolded to the dinner table that was covered with my favorite Kenyan dinner, popcorn, and a “cake” from the market. I stood taking it all in as they sang to me. The candles cast a trembling orange light, lighting up the dark room during the power outage. “I did not want you to think we had forgotten to celebrate your birthday” Dorothy said. She is so sweet and perceptive. She had made popcorn because one day we got it from town and she noticed how much I enjoyed it. I was touched, I had totally enjoyed my actual birthday the day before, and yet she still created a special dinner, wanting to make me feel at home and part of the family. Being here is a fresh start. This past year has been incredibly tough. Thoughts are shifting and changing. It’s a time of transition. And now I have a new year to fill with adventure. Being human is complicated and heavy. Life is big. People are beautiful. I am so grateful.