Christmas in Kenya

Merry Christmas, Everyone!


It's been a busy, full, and blessed season on this side of the world. There has been much to miss and mourn, but I've been pleased to see the Lord fill in the holes that I'd felt so profoundly impacting the beginning of this Christmas season. I'm sad to be so far away from you all, but I'm also keenly aware that the Lord is pleased to have me here.



In the days between ending the semester of school and Christmas, I was thrilled to have a chance to get out of the house and see and do some things around Nairobi that we've been too busy with work to get out to experience. One day, Amy P, Joel, Jonathan and I headed out towards school to Karen to visit the national park's elephant orphanage. We messed up with the directions at first and overshot the park, but half an hour later, we arrived within the 11-noon window that the center is open to visitors. I'm including a photo from that day here, and I've included links at the bottom of this entry to more photos on Facebook if you care to see more of these adorable little guys. I couldn't strip the smile off of my face the entire time we were there. There were about seven orphaned baby elephants there, and to our surprise, a rare black rhino. The elephants jogged about playing with one another--one was really excited about a huge black inner tube--and wrestling in a mud bath as their caretakers looked on. I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like it.



Christmas Eve - I was an absolute emotional wreck last Wednesday. It was silly--I just couldn't seem to control myself. Anything and everything had me on the brink of tears. I was happy to have friends to spend the day with, and with the exception of my break in self-control (I opened two of the eight puffy envelope packages my family had sent as Christmas gifts--I'm so ashamed), I had done a fair job of keeping myself together. But later that evening, as we watched the Jim Carey version of The Grinch (definitely not as wonderful as the original) at Julie and Amy's apartment, Amy asked if I'd like to check my e-mail. I hadn't been able to check in several days, and so I hopped online and was pleased to see a message from my mom. But it wasn't good news. My mom had written to tell me about my grandma, whom we call "Nonnie," and some of the health troubles she's had since a recent voluntary surgery on her knee. I can't express the agony I felt in that moment (and still, even now, at this moment) to be so far away from the people I love. Things aren't going well. My Nonnie, who has lived with our family for the better part of my life, seems to be getting closer to going home to Jesus. I'll admit that I wasn't brave in the aftershock of reading that e-mail. My mom had done such a beautiful job of relaying the news and giving me the update, but I was beside myself with grief. The thought hit me in a stroke of anger with God--why does he have me here when I could be there? It killed me to think of all the time I'd missed with Nonnie, my dad's parents (who also live with my family), my parents, sister and brother. It was a difficult few hours until I got back to my empty apartment.*



When I arrived back home, all of my roommates were gone--Becca in the States, Amy in Kijabe with her family, and Jen out of town as well. Loneliness fell on me the instant I bolted the door and I rushed to my room to grab the international calling card my discipler, Kara, had insisted I purchase to talk to my family. I grabbed a box of tissues, changed into my pajamas, turned on a light in the living room, and dialed the number. When I heard my sister Leslie's voice on the other end of the phone, I knew before I said a word that the emotion would ooze out of every word I spoke. But over the next hour, as my sister passed her phone to my mom and then my dad and I listened to the joy and encouragement in their voices, I was pulled back up out of the pit again. I realized that I think I've cried a grand total of about six times over the past five months and that has just not filled my crying quota. I am absolutely one of those external processors who needs to wrestle with conflict and emotions with other people or else I drive myself crazy. It was so good to have a chance to replace that lonely void with a sense of peace and contentment. So, family, if you didn't know that day how much you helped me out, hopefully you know now.



Christmas Day - Well, obviously, if the house is empty when you go to bed, it'll probably be that way when you wake up. But the lonely little pity party I'd thrown myself the day before didn't continue that morning. I woke up, turned on the water heater to take a shower, and popped in It's a Wonderful Life as I sat under our two-foot-tall Christmas tree on the carpet in my jammies to open the rest of my Christmas packages from the States. I felt a little pathetic, but the promise of spending time with friends the rest of the day kept me in good spirits. Got some great stuff, too--books, sourpatch kids, The Office season four :), and an abundance of Sharpies and Expo markers.



Later that morning, we headed over to the Gibsons for Christmas brunch. Their little girls, Kayla and Emma, were excited about their toys and couldn't wait to show them off. It was nice to be with a family that morning. Kara had made a great breakfast and I tried the first eggnog, made by Eric, that I've ever actually liked. We took a family-style photo in front of their tree and fireplace, said goodbye, and headed off to our next stop--a WNS family's home.



I still can't believe that at 11 am we had a big Christmas brunch and then we headed straight to another family's home for lunch. Thankfully, when we arrived, Sue (our middle school English teacher) hadn't quite finished her turkey, and so the huge group of us (maybe 15 in all), sat around chatting in the living room and in their small backyard. Sue and Joe's daughters, Anna and Kate, are both students of mine, and so it was fun to get to catch up with them and hear about their breaks. Dinner was great--turkey, potatoes, veggies, pumpkin... And because the family is originally from Australia, we were introduced to Christmas pudding--which was really tasty.



After our lunch, Jonathan, Joel and I headed to Prestige Plaza to take advantage of the free Internet in the food court to talk to our families. I was thrilled to have a chance to talk to my family via Skype--and finally getting the webcams up and running seemed to be a novelty as well. About half-way through my chat with my family, three little boys approached me from behind and stood there, looking into my computer screen at the video feed of my family. I hadn't realized their presence until I noticed a funny look in my sister's face and I turned around to see them all standing there. My sweet family laughed and smiled and waved into the camera saying, "Merry Christmas!" as the little boys stood gaping at my laptop. I took out my headphones and held them up to their ears, saying, "That is my family in America. They want to say 'Merry Christmas' to you." The boys listened, one after the other, and smiled and returned the greeting. They stayed there for a while and when I asked them where their family was, they replied that they were at home. It was well past dark and so I realized that the little boys were there to beg. It's a truly devastating reality here--and I hate passing over these kids and telling them "no." But the truth is, so I've heard, that a lot of these kids will be sent out by adults to beg and bring them back any money they receive, which then goes towards purchasing drugs and other non-essentials for their "patrons." It's really terrible. And while my friends told me afterwards that I should have just told them to go away instead of letting them stand there for so long, it broke my heart to think of being cruel on Christmas. I hope those little guys had a lovely Christmas and that my fears had no foundation--I hate to think of them going home to nothing.



December 26-28 - Camping at Hell's Gate National Park


The day after Christmas, seven of us (Jen, Brenton, Amy P, Julie, Jonathan, Joel, and I) packed up our things and headed out to camp at Hell's Gate National Park near Naivasha, about two hours outside of Nairobi. Now, I've been camping a few times before, and I've been a camp counselor, but my family wasn't really the pack-up-a-tent-and-rough-it kind of group. So I was excited for a relatively new experience. Brenton is actually interviewing for positions to manage safari lodges and has long dreamed of becoming a professional safari guide, and so I realized quickly that we were totally lucky to have this guy along. He and Jen knew exactly what to pack, how to cook campfire meals, where to go and what to do, and how to keep the notorious Hell's Gate baboons away from our campsite.



The first night, we selected a spot and set up camp and enjoyed Brenton's famous campfire kebabs and hot chocolate and hung out around our campfire until we all got sleepy. Falling asleep to the sounds of zebras munching on nearby grass was a total thrill. The next morning, Brenton and Jen slaved over french toast (I had no idea people could eat so well while camping) and jumped into cars to drive around the park. Hell's Gate is an absolutely magnificent place. I was awestruck by the grandeur of the place--the massive plains filled with herds of zebra, gazelle, impala, and the occasional warthog and giraffe, and the towering structures of rock carved out of the hillsides. We eventually drove to the gorge--the main hiking attraction of the park. To give you a sense of how awesome this place was, over the course of several hours, I took about 200 photos. Completely amazing. We hiked and climbed our way through the gorge, a waterfall, and along and through the river, and at every turn I found something completely new and beautiful and striking. I always loved hiking through Hocking Hills in southern Ohio with my family, but I've got to say, this place totally has Ohio beat. The summit of our hike led us to a series of hot springs, all steaming and smelling of sulphur. By the time we finished our trek back up the river, we were all pretty tired out. What an experience.




I was happy to have a few days to relax, enjoy the company of friends, get caught up on reading for school (I'm finishing up Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe right now--great book), and see some pretty incredible things. It was a nice way to get my mind off of being "alone" for the holidays. And, all over again, I'm feeling completely amazed at God's grace and blessings as He allows me to enjoy this incredible place.



Merry Christmas to you all. I pray that you feel as blessed as I do this holiday season.



Kate

• Photos of my apartment, Lukenya, Mombasa, and Paradise Lost on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2268180&l=b8ff9&id=7703460
• Photos of the Nairobi National Park elephant orphanage: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2268183&l=02fc0&id=7703460
• Photos of Hell's Gate National Park: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2268186&l=b8492&id=7703460

*I hope you know, Nonnie, how much I love and miss you. I am praying for you--that you get better, if that's the Lord's will, and that you experience peace and contentment and that you are fully aware of how much you are loved and treasured by the people you've touched throughout your life. I wish that I could be at home with you right now--I'd give you a huge hug and we'd sit and have a chat. "Rejoice"...and keep running the race. Love you.

Gettin' Schooled

School is officially out!

Our final day of exams was this Friday, and I can't tell you what perfect timing it is! Even though most of my break will likely be spent grading the truckload of papers and projects waiting for me on my desk (the kids reminded me that it was my own fault I assigned the work in the first place...), planning for next semester, reading the novels I'll be teaching in my English classes, and finally selecting and planning for a play to produce next semester...it's still good to have a break from the school routine.

Boy, I had to give the "Just how is it possible that after 18 weeks of school, you still don't know what you're doing in this class?" AND the "I am so disappointed in you--where has your respect for your classmates gone?" speeches within the last week. Little stinkers were probably just tuckered out from all of their exams and projects and excited about the break, but man oh man. I proctored Becca's French I exam period and suffered through two hours of ninth-graders talking through their classmates' presentations, making noises, and expecting all of these ridiculous favors from me. I sobered them up pretty well with the latter of those two speeches I mentioned, and I think I am officially the "mean" high school teacher. How'd that happen? Although, as one junior student reminded me, I think I'd prefer to be "feared than loved" at this point in my teaching career. I'm just kind of amazed that I'm pulling off the "stern, serious, high-expectations teacher" role. Part of me, I'll admit, is a little sad to not be the "fun" or the "cool" teacher--but the other is kind of patting myself on the back for the little reputation I've pulled together for myself. Bottom line, I discovered that I really need a break from school so that I can like my students again :) They're good kids.. they just need to get some stuff out of their systems, I think.

Another little insight into life in Nairobi: I've been getting a little disillusioned by all of the daily corruption here. I've gotten used to being careful with my things (several friends have had things stolen), walking during safe daylight hours, locking padlocks and gates in our home and looking out of my window through bars, but some things will just take more getting used to than others. My roommates and I found out recently that someone has been stealing our electricity and water. I guess it's a pretty easy thing to do--you just hook up an extra line to our supply and meter--but what's particularly disappointing is that our security guards and groundskeeper have likely been a part of the little scam. It wouldn't be possible for someone to pull it off unless there was someone on the inside giving them the opportunity. Our electricity was off the other day for 24 hours (such outages are fairly normal, so we didn't worry at first)...and when we spoke to the groundskeeper about it, he asked us for money to "find an electrician" to fix it. Amy's boyfriend, Sammy (a Kenyan), was able to talk to him for us and he ended up telling us that the guy wanted a bribe.. and that he in fact was the one who had flipped off the electricity in the first place. Oy. This is the same guy who has been charging us 200 Ksh per car wash he's done for us the past few months when he's charging everyone else in the compound 50/-. And it's really not a question of money--after all, even on a slim missionary salary, we're still living comfortably here. I'm just saddened to realize that you just can't trust everyone here. Little glimmers of hope and reassurance do appear now and then, though. Our landlady's grandson, Warren (which, consequently is my grandpa's name.. good sign), has been incredibly helpful over the past few weeks. He's an electrician by trade, so he was able to sort out the mix-ups we've had, and he's found all sorts of odd jobs around the house to help us out with. He even jumped into our "hot tub"--the big aluminum water tank in our back yard--to clean out all of the dead bugs, frogs, and other little critters so that we're not taking showers in swamp water. He comments now and then, shaking his head and looking to the floor, saying, "That's just how things are here. So much corruption. Everything, corruption." I'm sorry that good men like Warren have to endure such things.

Amy and Sammy had a bunch of their Kenyan friends over Saturday night for dinner while Amy's mom and sister are in Kenya for the holidays. Early in the evening, some of us sat down to listen to the NTV news. Meg, Amy's sister, and I watched the pictures and video, but we depended on James (Sammy's brother) and Shiro (his wife) to translate the Swahili for us and get us up to speed. I guess that there's a new scam that thieves in Nairobi are using to rob people in town--something about some substance they put on their hands that, when they shake hands with someone, will paralyze them temporarily while the thief takes their money and valuables. As the newscaster spoke, Meg turned to James and said with a sarcastic smile on her face and said, "Boy, you Kenyans..." James smiled and pointed at the screen and said, "Oh no--that's human beings." I answered with an "Amen," and we all laughed. But it's true. This is a corrupt, messy, fallen world. And while I find myself now and then missing the safety and security I enjoyed in the States, I'm also very aware that there is no place on earth that you can escape evil and injustice. That's human beings. That's our world.

For a long time, I looked around my surroundings here in Kenya thinking, "Wow--my values are just SO different than people here." I considered America as a nation of greater integrity and compassion and justice than my host country. I might have even considered myself superior--thinking that my disappointment in what I witnessed here was an indication of my better nature and character. I didn't consciously think these things--but I wonder how that attitude might and must have affected my early experience as an expat here in Nairobi. I wonder if people noticed. I wonder if I just added to the problem that's been afflicting this nation and the world for so long. I don't want to be self-righteous. I don't want to be ignorant. I'm disappointed in what I see, but I'm realizing that if that points my focus towards loving people and hating the evil in and around them, that's a good thing. That's kind of the thing, isn't it?

Please pray for Kenya--and for its people and the people working to see real, meaningful, and dynamic change in this place. I'm trying hard to be one of them.

Isaacs on the Altar and Various Sleep-Over Shenanigans

Friday night, Becca and I held a lock-in for the high school girls, and what could have been an exhausting, poorly-planned mess turned out to be a really lovely evening. Becca and I had been discussing the idea of holding a girls-only lock-in at the school for several months, and it finally worked out for this weekend. The students have one more week of class and then a week of finals, so it seemed like a nice time to sneak in some celebration and fellowship. The girls have been begging for a lock-in all semester, and Becca and I were happy to plan one. It has been important to me this semester to establish myself as an authority figure and ADULT role model for my students, and so I’d been a little anxious about the idea of having a slumber party with my students. Pillow talk and waking up with bed head and all that didn’t sound like great ways to reaffirm that role. But the idea of spending intentional time with these girls DID sound like a great opportunity…

Friday night, seventeen of the twenty seven high school girls attended (Only twenty seven total—can you believe that? What a teeny tiny school!), and so we didn’t have our hands too full. A bunch of the girls had soccer practice after school, and so from 3:30 until about 5, Becca and I ran around getting things ready, and a few of the girls helped us hang up a screen from the library balcony to use for movies that night. Until pizza arrived [side note: there is NO good pizza in Kenya. Well, I take that back—I had some tasty pizza at a really nice American-style restaurant a few weeks back. But anyway—no good delivery pizza. Put that on the list of things we can do this summer. Donatos, I miss you.], Becca sent the girls out on a scavenger hunt to seek out items that began with each letter of the alphabet. To give you a little idea of how our little school works, some of the items included “Storm Drain” for S (mind you, they had to actually bring the items back to our little “home base” for credit), “Very big leaf” for V (a palm branch), “Cement” for C (a bag of it from the chapel construction site), a “Wheelbarrow” for W, and various Swahili words filled in the random letters that girls couldn’t find items to cover. After dinner, half of the girls ran down to the soccer pitch to play tag and do cartwheels and run around with flashlights, while the other half plugged an ipod into the speakers we would use for the movies and had an impromptu dance party. Becca and I had brought along our house’s metal fire pit and one of the girls and I built up a campfire—using ONE match, by the way. We were pretty proud of ourselves.

My favorite part of the evening came when Becca and I rallied the girls around our fire for s’mores (using cappuccino-flavored marshmallows and “hobnobs”—granola biscuits covered on one side with chocolate). After the girls had settled down, Becca and I began our little campfire “encouragement” talk. As we’d planned for the evening and discussed messages we thought the girls needed to hear, we both realized that the story of Abraham and Isaac and God’s request of Abraham to offer Isaac as a sacrifice as a test of Abraham’s faithfulness and willingness to put God first above all others, was an important message in each of our lives. So we began the talk by reading the story from Genesis. After that, we discussed how each of us has “Isaacs” in our own lives—the first and greatest of which is our life itself. The act of surrendering our will to the Lord in response to Christ’s act on the Cross is the first Isaac that we place on the “altar” as Christians. But that doesn’t mean that the offering of Isaacs is over. I explained to the girls that in our lives, when we take an Isaac—something that we treasure, love, and invest in…be it a positive thing or no—and offer it up to the Lord, saying “This doesn’t belong to me. It’s yours, and I want You to do what You will with it,” only three things can happen as a result. One: God might give it right back to you, as He did with Abraham and Isaac. Two: He could exchange your Isaac for something even better—something you hadn’t even known possible. Or Three: God could burn it off. Kill it. If that Isaac is something destructive in your life—a relationship, an addiction, or whatever—God wants to get rid of the things that pull us away from Him. And so if it’s not satisfying and glorifying Him, He’ll get rid of it. None of these options, we reminded the girls, is a bad deal. In each situation, God is demonstrating His perfect love for us.

Becca and I then spent a few moments sharing personal Isaacs in our own lives. I mentioned the guilt and anger that I harbored coming out of high school, my desire to be loved and get married, and my plans for my future. We encouraged the girls to think of their own Isaacs and write them down. Some of the girls pocketed the slips of paper, and others tossed them into the fire. We reminded the girls that should they ever want to talk about anything—their Isaacs, spiritual questions, concerns, whatever—that we were there for them. I could never have imagined having that opportunity as a teacher with my students. What an incredible thing!

At that point, Becca and I passed around some gifts for the girls that the moms in touch group had made for them. Becca and I had written personal notes to each of the girls and the moms had attached little necklaces with the girls’ first initials on them and made bouquets of flowers and home-made truffles to offer the girls as reminders that “God wants to romance” them. The girls were delighted—all smiles. I then played them a song that I used for years as a camp counselor as a first-night bedtime ritual—“Beloved” by Tenth Avenue North, a song that my sister Leslie introduced me to years ago. If you haven’t heard the song, the lyrics are written from Christ’s perspective, and they sound like wedding vows. It goes like this:

“You’re my beloved/Lover, I’m yours/Death shall not part us/It’s you I died for/For better or worse/Forever will be/A love that unites us/And it binds you to me/It’s a mystery…Love of my life/Look deep in my eyes/And there you will find what you need/I’m the giver of life/I’ll clothe you in white/My immaculate bride you will be/Oh, come running home to me…”

Later on in the song, there’s a refrain that reminds us how much pain the Lord feels when we turn away from Him towards other things:

“Well you’ve been a mistress, my wife/Chasing lovers that won’t satisfy/Won’t you let me make you my bride?/You will drink of my lips and you’ll taste new life…”

Doesn’t that lyric just hit a place deep inside of you? Oh man, it strikes something deep in me. So often, I fool myself into thinking that my life is about me. About my wants—my desires—my so-called “needs.” I seek out what I think will satisfy me, and I live my life like an adulteress bride, giving myself to everything and everyone but my bridegroom, who loves me perfectly. Completely, patiently, fully loves me. Every time I remember that part of the Lord—the part that loves me like a husband loves his bride—I feel a deep sense of shame, regret, and remorse. I mourn the lost time—the poorly-invested moments and seasons. I remember that God loves me like a daughter, like a sister, and like a friend—but he’s also desperate to romance me. And he wants my whole heart. My whole life. Not just bits and pieces of it.

I wonder if the girls realized that night how much their teacher needed to hear what she was trying to teach them. They’re pretty insightful—I’ll bet they did. It’s hard to be anything but truthful around these kids, because they’ll sniff you out. And that’s a good thing, too. Keeps you honest. After our planned fellowship time, Becca and I asked the girls if they had any questions for us. And wouldn’t you know it, these high school girls wanted to talk about boys. What a surprise :) They also wanted to know my age. Apparently, I’d “promised” a couple of them months ago that I would tell them how old I was at their lock-in. I have no memory of that, but they seemed pretty determined to find out. I guess that since I have students who are 18—and a few even older—I’d figured it was wise to keep it quiet that I’m only 22. I never mentioned my specific age, but I did tell the girls that it was my first year of teaching. At that, one of the sophomore girls said, “But that’s okay! I think you teach really well, Miss Weiant. I like how we actually do things, instead of you just lecturing all the time—we actually learn stuff!” Bless her heart…not sure with this particular student whether that was a sincere statement or if she was just brown-nosing, but I appreciated it all the same. Another questionable compliment came in response to my revealing that I’ve never been in a relationship [a response to a question about dating]: “But you’re pretty! Do you know that?” I responded by thanking her and saying that being attractive or not didn’t really have much to do with my situation, but thanks for the encouragement. Oh, high school…

Prayer requests:

• The high school girls. After our lock-in, I just pray that some of these young ladies would be excited to address their "Isaacs" and turn their lives towards the God who loves them.
• Wrapping up the semester. As finals approach and I quickly run out of steam and motivation, please pray that I would remain focused in my teaching so that my students will learn and finish well.
• The holiday season. Pretty sure I'm going to miss you all a great deal over Christmas. This will be my first Christmas away from family and friends, and I'm not exactly looking forward to that part of this break...
• My church situation. Because I don't have a vehicle of my own, I rely upon roommates and other teachers to help me get to church each week. It's been difficult to find a place that really fits, and consistency in my attendance at any location has also been complicated. I really sense my need for a church home, and I'm just hoping and praying that the Lord works out a good place for me to commit.

Love and miss you all, Kate

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

I’m Thankful…

- For adventures. And change.
- That the Lord anticipates my needs before I realize there’s something coming.
- For kindred spirits and shared experience.
- That the void created by distance can’t and doesn’t make you love someone any less.
- For turkey, Stove Top stuffing, mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie shared over big laughs and meaningful conversation. A welcome change from last Thanksgiving when I roamed around Zurich solo and bought a McDonald’s chicken sandwich and a cup of cider on the street for my dinner.

Happy belated Thanksgiving, everyone. Can’t tell you how much I miss you all. This season has absolutely snuck up on me. I’ve been completely blindsided by the realization that it’s December. December. I’ve mentioned before that it’s been bizarre to step outside each morning to green on the trees, flowers, dust in the air, and—despite the occasional monsoon that serves as a reminder that we’re on the brink of rainy season—generally sunny, warm weather. I stepped through some dead leaves at the Nairobi Arboretum last weekend while my roommate and I were on a little Saturday excursion and about squealed. What a delicious reminder of the season. Crunchy leaves. Mmmm.

Well, this post-Obama world has been a real trip. In my last blog entry, I asked you to keep Kenya in mind as you prayed over the election. If you hadn’t heard, nearly an hour after the election results were announced here in Nairobi, President Kibaki declared November 5 a national holiday to celebrate their Kenyan brother. The eve of what we American expats have christened “Obama Day,” several of us went out to dinner at the local Yaya Centre and I’ll tell you what, we nearly got ourselves a free dinner just because folks were so excited about Mr. Obama. It used to be that we would walk along and now and then hear shouts of “Hey Mzungu!” [white person] on the street, but that week the calls changed to, “Hey! O-ba-ma! O-ba-ma!!!” Personally, I think the people of Kenya are in for a little disappointment when they realize eventually that despite Obama’s Kenyan and Luo heritage, there really won’t be many perks for his “brothers and sisters” out here in Africa. Sorry, folks.

Another prayer update: our accreditation process went beautifully. Oh, I can’t tell you how thankful I am for all of your prayers and encouragement! We are all absolutely excited and relieved. A lot of work went into preparing for the ACSI accrediting team’s visit a couple of weeks ago, and it seems that that has paid off. We won’t know for sure of our accredited status until January when the ACSI folks back in the States process and approve the team’s report, but things are looking good. There were four folks who came and spent the week poking around the school—one was a teacher and administrator at nearby Rosslyn Academy, another is a teacher and administrator at a similar school to ours in Cameroon, and the other two team members work with ACSI in a more direct manner. I got to know one of the ladies over a dinner we had for them at a local Italian restaurant, and I really don’t think the woman could have been any friendlier. Really sweet gal from North Carolina who’s now living in Budapest. She came and observed my English 10 class as the kids were giving persuasive speeches (a la Atticus Finch…we had just finished To Kill a Mockingbird), and just had the kindest things to say about the class and the kids afterwards. Totally took some of the sweating bullets pressure out of the whole ordeal. She even gave me a hug a few times, which I hadn’t expected from a team member meant to come and “verify” our accreditation documents and scrutinize the inner structure of our school. But I thought, “Hey—I’ll take it!”

So now I find myself officially three weeks away from my first Christmas break on the “educator” side of education. Glorious feeling. We’ve got two more weeks of class (I am working frantically to get my kids through Taming of the Shrew, Antigone, and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn), a week of finals, and then whiz-bang-boom: done! I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting over how this semester has gone, and while I can absolutely identify some spots where I really just had no idea what the heck I was doing, I feel really blessed at the Lord’s provision and intervention in my classroom. I am so impressed by the kind of thinking so many of my kids are doing. And I think the biggest pat on the back I can give myself (and by “myself,” I really mean Jesus…) was the call I made to rearrange my curriculum in my English classes and center each unit on a central question and theme. My students are getting ready for their finals right now in which I’ve asked them to do a take-home portion where they’ll identify an issue or topic or question that they’ve considered during their work in my class this semester and generate a “Multigenre Paper” (thank you, Dr. Romano and EDT 427) in which they’ll explore that focus through several different “lenses” (genres/perspectives) to express to me as their teacher exactly what they learned from their English class work thus far. Should be interesting to see what the kids turn in. I’ll let you know. The break will be such a welcome opportunity for rest and getting ahead for next semester. I think we’ve settled on heading to Maasai Mara in early January for a few days with a bunch of folks from school—so I have plans in order for my first official safari. Every now and then I’m reminded that my life here really is pretty cool :)

* * * * * * * * * *

Departing now a bit from the typical contents of these blog entries, I just want to take a moment to be a little transparent with you all and share something that’s really influencing and changing my life at the moment. Now, maybe I’m being a little too frank in sharing this with you, but I’m a big fan of transparency, so here goes. Recently, my comrade in singleness in my house has switched over to the other side and I’m now finding myself as the only single girl in a house of four. It’s a situation with which I’m pretty unfamiliar. While I’ve lived with some roommates in the past who have been in relationships and had friends who have dated people and even saw some friends get married over the past year, I’ve always felt like I’m in a solid group of people experiencing totally “normal” singlehood. Most of my good friends in college weren’t in relationships and I remember my sorority pledge class joking near graduation about how not a single one of us was engaged. Being single was standard. Typical. Normal.

So you can imagine, perhaps, my initial dismay at finding myself alone in being alone. I don’t know, I guess I had just predicted that I would be surrounded by a bunch of young single folks out on a similar stint like me—not worrying about relationship status and ticking clocks and all that. I wrote an e-mail home to my parents and mentioned this change and how I was initially reacting to it and laughed out loud when I received my most recent Thanksgiving puffy envelope from home and pulled out a copy of Jennifer Marshall’s Now and Not Yet: Making Sense of Single Life in the Twenty-First Century. Now I realize that this wasn’t a novel entitled, Old Maids: What to Do When You Realize You’re a Hopeless, Manless Wreck, and I know that my family loves and respects me in all the ways a daughter could hope for, but I’ll admit that my initial reaction to the gift was tinged with trepidation and disinterest. In my experience with perpetual singleness, I’ve grown weary of feeling like there’s something wrong with me—either something unattractive to the opposite sex and therefore keeping me from a relationship or else something altogether “off” about the way I’ve lived my life. And I’d expected to find companions in this journey here in Kenya, and found myself a little disappointed in getting slapped once again by the hand of Expectation.

But you know, the Lord is really, really good. In this little stretch of my life where I really could be feeling kind of sorry for myself and mope around all “woe is me, why can’t I find a man?”—instead, I’m reveling in this sense of purpose and possibility and calling. I suppose I can attribute much of this to that little book from my folks that sat on my bedside table for a few hours before curiosity got the better of me and I picked it up and started to read. I keep thinking or daydreaming up all of these delightful little perks of being not merely in an “in between” stage, but instead in a “not yet/here and now” kind of stage. My desire to one day get married and have a family has always, as I’m sure it is for many girls, been one of those dreamed-about shadows that, while it lingers just barely out of reach, is somehow something worthy of planning your entire life around. I’ve never been in a relationship before, but somehow I’ve still managed to impress upon myself that my value—at least in part—is equal to what men see in me. I’ve felt incomplete because of my singleness. Incomplete and wrong. But the Lord is stirring up something new in my heart. Something exciting. I’ve asked myself to think about what my life could look like if I were still single five, maybe ten, years from now—and instead of feeling dismay or disillusionment, I’m filled with this sense of “Well—that’s not necessarily what I’d choose for myself…but that could work.” I’ve imagined all of the adventures I could go on—continuing to work at West Nairobi School or moving on to something different. I could live in some big city and, despite my lamentable lack of rhythm and muscle memory, take dance lessons—or art classes or something. I’d have shelves full of books I’d actually read and not just thought about reading. I could devote my time to service and ministry in my community. I could get a dog. Run a marathon. Invest in real estate. Meet new people and try new things. I could be “cool Aunt Kate” and make up a guest room for my little nieces and nephews and have them over on weekends to take advantage of them at their best and when they start to get cranky, send them back to their mommy and daddy. I could travel the world. I could write a book. I could do so much.

What a revelation. I’m telling you—I haven’t felt this content in where God has me in ages. What a tremendous gift to have that weight of “wrongness” and doubt lifted. He has me exactly where He wants me, if only I’ll let this be that place. Things are still difficult and complicated and I certainly haven’t let go of the dreams and hopes that I have for a “someday” future, but wow. It’s great to know that I don’t have to wait around to live my life. That my greatest purpose is not in what’s five, ten, twenty or more years down the line—but in how I’m living my life for the Lord in the here and now. And boy, I don’t want to rush what God’s got planned for me. I want to soak up whatever it is He’s got in mind for me from here on out. No more silly girlish pining and whining. This is where I am. When something else comes along, I’m sure God will make me keenly aware of it, and then it’ll be time for that something else—whatever it may be.

My wish for you, dear friends, family and readers, is that God would give you peace and comfort in your circumstances, too.

Thankful for you all,
Kate

The Post that Never Ends...

It has been too long since I last wrote to you all. Please forgive me—I hate to keep you in the dark on all the goings-on here in Kenya! I tell you what. I know myself well enough to anticipate already that I’m going to be writing quite a bit here, so I’ll break down my life into little bite-sized nuggets of information and anecdotes so that you readers can easily skim through and find the bits that are interesting and weed out anything that’s…not. Here goes:

Life in Kenya

Have I mentioned yet that Kenya is Obama country? I don’t know how the elections in America will go down tomorrow, but I know for certain that this country is buzzing about it and should Mr. Obama win or lose, Kenyans are going to react. Kenyans are convinced that Obama, a Kenyan and member of the Luo tribe, will “do great things for Kenya” if elected. Everywhere we go, we mzungus are asked, “You will vote for Obama?” I’ve even heard from one teacher that announcing “I’m voting for Obama” got her out of trouble in a matatu (transport vehicle…scary) skirmish. In fact, this morning I remember passing two different matatus, one decorated and named, “Baraq” and the other “Obama” (all of the matatus around here are named, painted up in flashy colors, some sporting blown-up photos of celebrities and rappers on the back windows, and some fancier ones have black lights, spoilers, and drop-down video screens on which play sleazy music videos). Jim, one of our administrators, came into the office all flustered this morning, waving around a newspaper as Nancy and Peter, two of our Kenyan office staff, were stuffing notices into pigeonholes. Jim pointed out today’s headline in the Kenyan national paper—something about how Kenya is behind Barack. Jim started raving about the politics and personal beliefs that Obama holds and declares something about how he is amazed that Kenya, as a Christian nation, would support such a candidate (WNS, mind you, is McCain land…for better or worse). Peter and Nancy smile and say, “Oh! We didn’t know about all of that!”

I went grocery shopping yesterday afternoon at the Nakumatt at Prestige Plaza, a few blocks from our house. My roommate, Becca, drove me over there and then she hung around the food court upstairs to get online (a frequent activity of ours, by the way). I can’t believe I haven’t written about this yet: grocery shopping in Kenya is an extremely bizarre activity. First, as you walk up to the entrance, you’ll pass the Nakumatt guards, clad in royal blue uniforms and topped off with shiny black baseball helmets. Kenyans are fonder of “football” than baseball for certain—but they do put the helmets to good use. Then, you’ll find that you have three options for grocery carts, or “trolleys.” There are the large, completely awkward and unmanageable ones, which no Kenyan really has use for unless they are purchasing the 10-gallon sized barrels of cooking oil you can find in aisle 10. Then there are the more average and acceptable-sized trolleys, which I tend to sort to myself, unless I only have a few items to purchase and can manage with a basket. But the real marvel of the trolley park is the section devoted to what, in America, we would classify as “kiddie carts.” In Kenya, however, these trolleys are not devoted to the smallest of shoppers—no, these tiny little trolleys are for Kenyan adults, too. I can’t tell you what a smile it brings to my face to see a grown man, daintily pushing along his kiddie cart down the aisles, bending over to place in the few items he needs. Other oddities include an aisle devoted entirely to cooking fat and oil; a refrigerator full of dog meat; a produce section where attendants weigh your individual fruit and vegetable purchases before you head to the check-out counter; a greeting card aisle whose selection is devoted solely to Christmas cards, Valentines, obscure relatives’ birthday cards, and sympathy greetings; impolite workers (a rarity in the States, where customer service is held to an incredible standard…although if I were paid what the Nakumatt workers settle for and worked the hours they do, I’d be grumpy, too); an entire floor of mattresses and over-stuffed polyester furniture in hues I imagine only the Floridian elderly would select; a meager selection of over-priced cereal (I’ve heard that a few years ago, only two different choices were offered. Apparently, Kenyans don’t typically enjoy breakfast); and in place of candy bars and gossip magazines at the registers, there stands an embarrassingly awkward display of products which I’m sure are meant to promote safe “after-hours” recreation, along with the always enjoyable Nivea non-shiny lip gloss “For Men.”

It was a surprise last Friday when it dawned on me that it was Halloween. None of the students dressed up and the only reminder of the holiday was the couple of Cadbury caramels left in my mailbox by our darling interim director, Joan. We had decided to throw a little Halloween bash at our house that night, inviting some of the other teachers to enjoy a fire in our newly purchased fire pit we bought from the “strip mall” (really a bunch of ramshackle huts and stands with huge outdoor displays of handmade wood and iron furniture, as well as some gigantic, life-sized metal sculptures of safari creatures that I am certain only tourists and foolish mzungu residents would ever dare to purchase) along Ngong Road on the way to and from school. For the rest of our night, we’d planned to have a pumpkin-carving contest (the only ones you can find around here are green), and a few episodes of The Twilight Zone that we’d borrowed from a school family. When our juice man, Samson, arrived that evening to drop off our weekly liters of mango and passion-pine juices, he was surprised to see Raggedy Ann (Jen), a Buckeye football player (me, of course), and a “missionary wife” (Becca…hilarious, by the way), greet him at the door. We explained the unfamiliar concept of trick-or-treating and had him practice with us to get a mini Twix bar (“You say ‘trick or treat,’ and we give you candy”… “But I don’t want a trick. I want a treat.”… “No, you always get a treat…that’s just how it works…”). He seemed perplexed that nice Christian girls would be into witchcraft, so we had to explain our American traditions again. I’m sure we completely confused the poor man. A little while later, our neighbor, Siri, came to borrow water (his apartment doesn’t have any). Upon seeing the same trio mentioned before, he mused, “You all look very silly.” We told him he was welcome to come and join our little gathering once he was finished with the water, and he said he might come back. Maybe twenty minutes later, in walks Siri with a white paint-line substance smeared around his face. “See, I look silly now, too!”

School

A couple of weeks ago, we wrapped up our first quarter here at WNS and I officially no longer feel like a complete novice. I didn’t have a single kid fail, although I’m seriously concerned that I’m subconsciously inflating my kiddos’ grades because ain’t no way my freshmen should all have A’s and B’s like they do. I’m too nice. So much for not smiling ‘til Christmas. My English 9 class is in the middle of Act V of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet which has been an absolute trip. I secured copies of the Franco Zeffirelli 1968 version of the film, the racy Leo DiCaprio/Claire Danes version, and had brought West Side Story (a dorky favorite) from home, so I’ve been showing little snippets of scenes each day in class, following along with our reading. Everyday, the kids come in hollering about which version we’re going to watch. The girls are big fans of Leo, and some of the more brown-nosing types never fail to remind me that Zeffirelli’s take is “more accurate.” Good for them. They all giggled through the “rumble” scene in West Side Story (I’d warned them it was a little hokey), but I think they secretly enjoyed the singing and dancing and snapping.

Tenth grade might be my favorite class to teach—and I think I’ve said that before, but it’s still as true now as it was then. The class is made up of mostly girls, but the boys seem to hold their own pretty well. They’re a really bright bunch and I really enjoy getting them into discussion and wrestling with the literature and concepts we’re dealing with in class. We’re getting close to the end of our “Crisis of Conscience” unit on To Kill a Mockingbird, and we’ve come a long way from that “Taboo Topics” activity and discussion. I had the class write “Righteous Anger” creative writing pieces in which they addressed their anger head-on, either using the injustices from the novel that they’re all really worked up about as inspiration, personal conflicts and tension, or social, political, national, or global issues that get them riled up. The end results were awesome. I had the kids “table” their pieces in small groups, offering feedback and criticism for their peers, and a few of the kids even offered to stand in front of the whole class and read their pieces. Now granted, this group can tend to get a little off-task and chatty, but on the whole, I’m impressed with their maturity and insight. Next order of business: persuasive speeches in which they consider an issue about which they’re really passionate and build to a call to action at the end of their 3-5 minutes. Should be exciting. Really bummed out that I’ll be losing that class to a returning teacher next semester. They’ve been a ton of fun to teach.

Eleventh grade is still a struggle to teach. Smart, smart kids…just can’t seem to get them interested in anything. We’re doing Arthur Miller’s The Crucible right now and so I’ve had them reading the drama in class and last week they worked on a “character webbing” group activity that actually turned out pretty cool, but no matter what fancy song-and-dance little show I try to put on each day, they still seem to be disinterested and detached. The sole exception and interruption of this general rule of quiet disinterest is a student in my four-person section of English 11 who gets incredibly into the dramatic reading we do in class. This is the Kenyan student who writes famous quotes on all of his teacher’s blackboards every day, fills notebooks with interesting words and phrases, and is just one of the stinkin’ smartest kids I’ve run into maybe ever. The kid does voices for each of the characters he reads and makes gestures under his desk and raises his voice for dramatic effect…I’m telling you—great stuff. But honestly, that’s about as exciting as it gets. I’ve heard from a bunch of the teachers that this class just needs time to get used to you—so that’s slightly reassuring. I genuinely like the students…they’re just a little tough to get excited about anything. I learned last week that it’s a distinct possibility—even probability—that I’ll be teaching the AP English course next year, so that’s really upping my perceived need to get myself in gear with this class. AP. Yikes.

Drama and Yearbook have both been challenging over the past few weeks. Both of my elective courses started off really well, but some unforeseeable issues have cropped up as of late. My drama kids are wrapping up theatre history group projects in which they were assigned a play from a specific theatre history era and were asked to perform a scene or two from the play in addition to giving a 10 or so minute presentation on the playwright, cultural influences during the time, theatre’s contribution to culture during the era, etc. It was a good idea in theory, but it’s turned into a nightmare. Elective courses are offered during 7th period at the very end of the day here. Unfortunately, it’s at the end of the day that kids get pulled out of class to head to away games and practices for sports. With a teeny tiny school like this with very few extracurriculars offered, many of the kids are on the soccer, basketball and tennis teams. Good for them. I’m all for participation in outside of school activities. However, I am not a fan of kids getting pulled out of my classes left and right. Nothing gets done. What I intended to be a three and a half week project has turned into a six week saga of unending misery and strife. Gross. Similarly, on the Yearbook front, we realized when the container came in with all of our school supplies, textbooks and resources for the year, that the Adobe CS4 programs needed for yearbook weren’t on the container. Instead, thinking that he’d gotten a steal of a deal, our administrator in charge of finances had ordered training software for CS4. Nice, but not what we needed. So now I’m finding myself pulling my hair out trying to keep kids busy with work while we wait for a program that still hasn’t even been ordered. Needless to say, I’ve become the queen of busywork in that class. Busywork and BS’ed almost-purposeful activities. Almost.

Other challenges include our continued work towards accreditation and the recent news that I will be teaching Comparative Religions—a course I feel in no way qualified to even begin teaching—next semester. The accreditation process is nearly over, as the team from ACSI is coming the third week of November. Prayers would be AWESOME. We really need this. It’s been so much work and so much effort on everyone’s part and I know everyone would be devastated if we missed the mark and didn’t end up getting the go-ahead. Comparative Religions is a whole different ball of wax. Apparently, the class was supposed to be taught by a teacher who left unexpectedly at the end of last year, and for some reason, they were unable to fill the slot with a qualified teacher. So now, on top of putting out a yearbook and a full-scale theatrical production, I’m going to have to figure out how to make it look like I know what I’m talking about in this Bible course. I’m sure that it’s a blessing in disguise and that I’ll learn a ton from teaching the course, but right now it’s incredibly daunting. Any wisdom, knowledge or potential resources would be GREATLY appreciated.

Mombasa

A couple of weeks ago, we enjoyed a day off from school and consequential three-day weekend—a welcome break from the intense school year we’ve had so far, filled with half-days for accreditation work and having to come in to school even on Muslim national holidays to get work done, even when the kids had the day off. So eight of us—seven teachers from WNS and Brenton, a teacher from Roslynn Academy (another international Christian school in the area)—decided to take advantage of the day off and head to the coast. It was an ambitious trip, including an eight-hour bus ride each way along pretty bumpy roads through the middle of nowhere, but incredibly worth it. Amy P, Jen, Becca and I made up the female component of our group, and Joel, Jonathan, Steven and Brenton were the fellas.

We’d all packed our things in backpacks, brought along water, sunscreen and ipods for the bus ride, and finally arrived Saturday morning in Mombasa. Taking a couple of taxis to the “resort” where Becca had made our reservation, we saw a naked man walking through an intersection (our cabbie pointed and laughed at this—a strange reaction to us, as most of the time it seems that Kenyans aren’t caught at all off-guard by odd behavior or dress) and the other cab got lost. By the time we made it to the Bambury Beach Resort, we found out that our reservation never got written down and the hotel was booked solid. We took it quite well, actually, not having a place to stay. Things like that are pretty standard events around here, I’m finding. After a few hours and some tough negotiation from Becca, we ended up a few doors down in a neighboring resort right on the beach. Perfect, really.

What a relaxing weekend. Despite the struggle upon our arrival, the constant harassment by “beach boys” and curio sellers during what we always hoped would be peaceful walks on the beach, and the grim presence of mosquito nets in our bedrooms (I get bitten by those suckers all the time over here!), I couldn’t have imagined a better getaway. We spent a great deal of time in the pool, watching Technicolor geckos scurry around and monkeys scamper along the high fences, goofing around and undoubtedly giving the large group of Indians on holiday who shared our resort plenty to chuckle about. We enjoyed splashing around in the Indian Ocean, buying fresh coconut and mango as an afternoon snack from Abdul the fruit man, always stationed directly outside our hotel entrance, and best of all, that Sunday, six of us went snorkeling off the nearby reef. Now, I am that person who, like the rest of my Weiant family, can sit in front of the tropical fish aquarium window for hours and hours, just watching the fish swim back and forth, back and forth. Totally therapeutic. So taking a dilapidated little wooden catamaran, captained by Mario and Sinbad (not kidding), on a beautiful, cloudless day out into the ocean to a little reef, and then spending hours floating around, swimming with Nemo and his buddies, was just bliss. When we’d first jumped ship and started to swim around where Mario dropped anchor, I remember being a little disappointed in the schools of blue and grey striped average-Joe fish cruising around. But a little ways further and I found myself surrounded by gorgeous fish in all their beautiful, florescent glory, zipping around coral and peeking out from anemones. I remember thinking, “Thank you, Jesus—how incredible is this?” What a blessing of a day. I got one heck of a sunburn on the tip of my nose from the scuba mask rubbing off my SPF 45, but that day was well worth the embarrassment of a flaking nose during parent-teacher conferences that week.

Prayer Requests

- I wasn’t joking about how the American elections are a big deal to folks here in Kenya. It’s incredibly possible that either way, Kenyan/American relations could get uncomfortable or strained here in Nairobi. I know we’re all praying over here that the Lord’s hand would be on the elections and the man who will be taking over the reigns of our nation for the next four years. It’s different living as an expat, but I do pray that things will all line up according to God’s will, no matter where I am in the world.

- The accreditation team will come to WNS in a few weeks to observe the school for about a week and will be making the ultra-important decision about whether they will give us full accreditation or no. It’s an important week for us as a faculty here, and I would certainly covet your prayers as this will be either a significant milestone or setback in the life of this little international Christian school in Karen, Kenya.

- Our ESL teacher here, Nicole, has made the decision to head back to Texas at the end of this week. Her mother is being treated right now for Lou Gehrig’s disease and Nicole is anxious to be back with her family. We’re all praying for an easy transition for Nicole back to the States, a recovery for her mother, and a quick hiring process to fill the vacancy in our staff. Nicole is beloved by her students, and we are all anxious to see an equally enthusiastic and encouraging teacher to take her position.

- We have so many spiritually sensitive students here at WNS. But as of now, their learning of the Gospel and ample opportunities for personal encounters with Christ haven’t led them to a personal, saving relationship with Him. Please keep these students in your prayers and also pray that we as their teachers would take advantage of windows to speak truth into these kids’ lives and encourage them by our example. I absolutely believe that I find myself in the position and with the responsibility of teaching some of this world’s future leaders at this school. These students are bright, have understanding of and a heart for the world beyond any that I can imagine, and I know that Christ could move mountains with these kids if they surrender their lives to him. Please pray that I might be God’s vessel in teaching these students.

Thanks for reading, and God bless each of you. Thank you so much for your continued support and prayer. The Lord is moving here in Nairobi, and I am so blessed by your partnership with me in this ministry. Happy fall—enjoy the change of seasons for me…I’m already mourning that loss. Who would have thought that anyone could ever be dissatisfied with eternal summer?

Kate

Revelations on the “Convenience” Myth

October 7: I’m missing America. Not, like, everything—necessarily. More just the…comforts of America.

I am a pathetic, pathetic girl.

I spent a good part of last night screening the Leonardo DiCaprio/Claire Danes Romeo + Juliet film for my freshman English class (Ahem…side note: we started Act I yesterday and their little eyes absolutely popped out of their heads at all the bawdy language…once I explained it to them…and, God love them, by the end of class, they had big grins on their faces and were proclaiming, “We like Shakespeare!”) and I found myself consequently worn out by the waning daylight outside and decided it was time for dinner. Thinking through my options, I settled on a fried egg sandwich. I reminisced with a roommate over the bland handful that I’d made in our skillet about the conveniences of American shopping and food preparation, thinking back upon my days of microwavable Lean Cuisines and frozen vegetables, deli sandwich meat, cans of Campbell’s soup, and Uncle Ben’s.

My Kenyan diet has been whittled down to some slim pickins: wheat toast, eggs, vegetables from the duka at the end of the alley, bananas, juice from Sampson the juice man, pasta, popcorn, bran flake cereal (or corn if Nakumatt’s out of bran), and the occasional bottle of Coke Light. At least, those are our household staples. Hot lunches are provided by the school and even though everything always tastes the same (David the caterer seems to use the same masala seasoning on just about everything), it’s worth it to get in a little protein and remove the inconvenience of having to slap together lunch in the morning. I drink chai at least once or twice a day out of the teacher’s lounge and Cadbury hot cocoa mix is always easily accessible on the shelf at home whenever I feel like something hot to fill/wake me up. My roommates are pretty good cooks and so if one of them has the energy and gumption to make a real dinner at night, I’ll step in and help and enjoy. But the rest of the time…I don’t know…I guess I’m just tuckered out and would rather fry up an egg quickly and stick it between some toast. Thank heavens for my dear sweet mother who insisted I take along a big honkin’ bottle of multivitamins, or else I’m sure I’d have some terrible dietary deficiency over here.

Anyway…that was silly—me talking about food for that long. But in all seriousness, thinking on this aspect of my new life has got me doing a little thinking. Basically, my conclusion is: I’m selfish, spoiled, and a little pathetic. How embarrassing. Here I am, trying to do all the right things, trying to be on track with whatever it is the Lord’s got me here doing, learning and living and growing however I can day in and day out—and it’s the dumb things like “conveniences” that’ve got me all hung up. I get so irritated by the fact that running a simple errand like grabbing milk at the grocery store can become an hour-long ordeal because of unpredictable traffic. I don’t like that I had to draft this blog last night in my room and upload it this morning because it isn’t safe to walk to or from the internet café past dusk. There are usually only three options at the movie theater a week, plus some questionable Bollywood (sp?) film, and only occasionally is one of them worth watching. I have trouble concealing my exasperation that while my students will take their sweet time to do anything I ask them to do, I had for darn sure be ready to give them back their essays or homework from the day before and have everything entered into my grade book so they can see if their “A” changed to an “A-” overnight. I can’t believe I’m missing Buckeye football games because my internet won’t let me watch things over here. And it kills me that I’m seven hours ahead of the rest of my world and can’t ever seem to connect with people I love.

Convenience, I’m finding, is simply a thing of my past. An American novelty. As foreign here as sunglasses, flip-flops, Kraft macaroni and cheese, deodorant (??), and blonde hair. Things just don’t work the same way here. People move slowly, work slowly, eat slowly, think slowly. In fact, I think the only time I’ve seen a Kenyan hurry at anything is when they’re driving or chasing after a matatu. I’ll tell you one thing, though: losing that privilege of convenience is slowing me down considerably. I could very well be falling into that standard, predictable missionary “counting my blessings” mode. But that may just be a good thing for me. Wouldn’t it be wonderful and perfectly ironic?

Finally- PHOTOS! :)

Sticky, sticky...

I’m entering a unit with my 10th graders which I’m calling “Crisis of Conscience,” the central text of which is Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, one of my all-time favorite classic “school” books. We just wrapped up Lord of the Flies and I had an awesome opportunity at the end of the unit to connect our reading to the story of the Fall, mankind’s origins, our sinful, depraved nature, and our opportunity to experience redemption, despite all the messes we make along the way. So now I’m feeling good. Feeling excited about what’s to come next.

I made up this little intro activity to do with the class for this past Friday. I asked my students to gather into small groups and gave them each a large sheet of white butcher paper and gave them access to markers, construction paper, etc. I told them that they were to use words and images to create a piece of “modern art” that expressed visually our understanding of, attitude towards, and reaction to all things “taboo.” Everything that’s off-limits. Whatever makes you, your family, your friends, our society and culture uncomfortable to talk about. I encouraged my students to be mature and adult about the whole thing, reminding them that we were entering a new unit where we’re going to encounter some sticky situations and subject matter. Get it out of your systems. Let it out here and now. And then let’s talk about what makes these topics taboo, how we ought to respond to these situations, and what positive action we can take. I thought it was a pretty slick idea.

Unfortunately, I seem to be learning lately that no matter how carefully I plan, these darn kids always find some way to warp a lesson and twist it some direction I’d rather not let them go down. Most groups were pretty mature about it all—actually, I had a really sweet little group of ladies who whispered, “Is it okay if we put ‘sex’ on ours?” to which I responded, “Yep. That’s a pretty uncomfortable topic, isn’t it?” The same group found a really interesting way to express their ideas visually, cramping together all the off-limits words and phrases in one corner of their “canvas” and filling the rest with light colors, safe words, and other “happy” kinds of images. Exactly what I’d hoped to see. But then there were the boys who threw themselves against the wall they’d posted their paper to, waving their arms and blocking the words so I couldn’t see as I passed by outside to check in on groups. “Remember, guys…this is the whole point of the exercise. You don’t have to hide anything…” I mentioned as I passed by. “Oh no, Miss Weiant. You can’t see this.” So of course, now I’m intrigued. And of course, when you’re going to leave a work-in-progress project in my classroom, I’m going to look at what you wrote. Amateurs.

What they’d written read, “The stuff you do with your girl on the weekend [in detail!]” Now, I was never so naïve to think that at even at this little Christian school in the middle of Africa, nothing bad or problematic ever happened amongst students. That they were all perfect little angels. I’d known better than that. But it still caught me a little off-guard—more as to what I should do with the information, now that I had it, than anything else. Another group was working on the floor of the little outdoor hallway outside of my classroom. As I passed by this little group, a male student (who I’m experiencing a couple of minor issues with already) looks up at me with a little smirk, and then looks back down at the words he’d written on his group’s paper. I read the words, and he starts slowly scribbling them out. They were names of other students—students I know to have a hard time with bullying and being misunderstood and disliked. So, great. It’s not like I was personally offended by anything or that anything really catastrophic had happened, and after all, I’d kind of asked for it, right? But nonetheless, I was left a bit disappointed in these kids, and a little lost as to what action to take now that I’ve seen what I’ve seen.

* * * * * * * * * *

On a more personal note, there’s some more sticky messes cropping up outside of school. And, without going into detail, I found myself over the past couple of weeks pretty bummed out over some situations in our outside-of-school life…but even more disappointed that it’s happening at all. During my time in college, I had to deal with some pretty complicated roommate stuff, and in dealing with each of those situations, I’d always felt that it really wasn’t my place to interfere or bring up a solution-less problem. My decision to keep quiet was probably also fuelled by my people-pleasing nature and adamant dislike of rocking the boat. I should have known that even amongst Godly, lovely roommates, the same typical living-in-close quarters stuff would stir up. But I think I’d just really resisted the idea of opening my mouth and saying what I felt the Lord was putting on my heart because I just really hated the idea that now that I’ve finally got such a great living situation, now it was time for me to speak up. To get a little sticky and dirty. To make people I’m really growing to love uncomfortable. It’s the same problem I’ve dealt with for years. When you’ve got prophecy, discernment and exhortation as your spiritual gifting, it’s kind of bound to happen.

But the good news was that acting on some prompting from the Holy Spirit, listening to my roommates and a couple other advisers (especially you, mom!), and just committing to love these people, has lead to some pretty phenomenal first steps in the whole restoration and “fixing” process of these little issues. What a blessing! I can’t tell you how great it is—how providential and fulfilling—to be surrounded by people who genuinely desire to build up and out of problems. To receive wisdom and encouragement, and instead of running from it or resisting it, they yield to it. Boy, have I ever got a lot to learn—that’s all I know. And it’s not as though everything’s been fixed and taken care of…we’re still in that process…but I’m confident that the Lord’s got a perfect solution in mind. And that’s enough for now.

* * * * * * * * * *
Other little “slices of life” around Nairobi and Karen:

- The container with all of our textbooks and supplies for the year—the one that had been floating around in the Indian Ocean, then docked in Mombasa and stuck in port for what felt like ages—finally arrived the other day. So on Friday, we all ran around (me in a dress and stiletto heels), hauling boxes out of the storage unit and down towards our classrooms. It was like Christmas. It’s amazing how giddy teachers get over things like textbooks and resource books. We’re all just so glad it’s finally here—having those resources it going to make life significantly less complicated!

- We finished season three of Lost this weekend and have moved on to season four. Just goes to show how much time we spend at the house and how addicting these seasons of shows have become. There’s a ton of street-sellers here in Nairobi—carrying everything from bags of corn and peas to cabbage shredders, puppies, and blow-up safari animals. A couple of blocks away, the “movie men” have their designated corner of traffic…and their less-than-reputable services, I’m embarrassed to say, have become an invaluable commodity in our lives here. We’d purchase or rent movies and TV shows from rental places around here, but everything there is pirated, too.

- Amy P, Jen, Becca, one of the high school students and I drove to the Great Rift Valley last weekend to climb Mt. Longonot, a dormant volcano about an hour and a half outside of Nairobi. On the way up, the altitude really hit me hard and I felt like a total dork for being so out of breath, but the view at the top was stunning. The entire inside of the crater is now this huge jungle, all lush and green. I spoke with our high school buddy about life in Nairobi and how hard it is to say goodbye to people all of the time. She’s a really dear girl, and it was nice to have another opportunity to get to know her. Came back burnt and sore, but I think the experience was worth it.

- Went to the movies this past week for Mzuri Monday Madness and saw Taken, the one with Liam Neeson that’s probably been out for ages back in the States. I love a good thriller, but a movie about a girl who heads off to Paris with her friend, only to get abducted and kidnapped by Albanian slave traders, probably wasn’t the perfect pick for a bunch of Americans living internationally.

Love you all! Continue praying. Good stuff is happening here in Kenya, and I love that you’re a part of this, too. Keep in touch—and have a great week!

Kate

It’s getting harder and harder for me to suppress my natural melancholy.
...I think that’s what living like this can do to you.

I’d been surprised at how I was taking in and processing and responding to all of this change in my life over the past seven weeks. I’d been so phlegmatic—so mellow and go-with-the-flow. I was taking in every experience, every discovery, every stressful moment in stride. Nothing was catastrophic, nothing amazing. That’s not me. Ordinarily, I tend to resist change, fighting tooth and nail to keep everything the same. I was that kid who cried before the first day of school, who bawled when my parents told me about how I’d soon be “becoming a woman,” who shrunk away from any decision that came my way, all because I really just wanted things to stay the same. I emote. I cry. I worry. I have to talk through all of those concerns and possibilities. If you saw me this summer, you definitely know all of this. I was so scared to make a decision about where to teach and what to do with my life. And then the Lord said, “Africa.”

A couple of weeks ago, the placid bubble shrunk a little. I’d been content to take in everything, and because of warnings I’d received about culture stress and culture shock and transition, I made a conscious decision just to take everything in. No traffic lights? No problem. Classes I didn’t know I’d have to teach? I’ll take care of it. No walking after 5 pm or carrying a purse with you or ever being alone? I’ll get over it. Mattress that folds me up into a taco every night? Psh…not a big deal. But for some reason, the day my birthday came, all of a sudden I became a little more aware that, well, this is my life now.

So the 27th was my birthday. And maybe the first day I’ve really felt homesick. Which was strange—after all, birthdays have never held huge importance for me before. Most years our family sat down together for a special request dinner mom made, per the request of the birthday girl, and we opened a few presents and ate a cake I usually had made myself. Not a huge deal.

But for some reason, that day was just a strange one for me. It was a half-day of school and we spent the afternoon in accreditation meetings. I made my first substantial blunder as a teacher: I showed up to my first class of the day, second period English 9, seven minutes late. I was making copies in the office, looked down at my watch and realized that we weren’t on our usual schedule…shoot. So I huffed it up the hill to my room, noticing two of my students were waiting outside of the door at the top of the stairs. Shoot, shoot, shoot. So I arrive, totally out of breath at my room, to find my freshmen all sitting in their seats, books out and everything, and they burst out into a very sweet little rendition of “Happy Birthday.” For some reason, though, their kindness didn’t make me feel better…but worse. Then later, I had planned on having a “Google Talk date” with my folks before our meetings began. I got back to the office, connected to the internet, heard the little ring to let me know that someone was calling, clicked to receive the call, heard the word, “Happy,” and then—nothing. I’ve gotten used to the common power, water, and internet outages here in Kenya, but, I mean…really? Birthday call to my family? That’s what’s got to get interrupted? Sheesh.

So in the past few weeks, I think I’ve encountered this little threshold I need to get across. It’s ok that I miss people and things and places and rules and customs that make sense. I’m not a Kenyan. This isn’t home yet. But I think I’d just been living in blissful ignorance of the fact that this has to become home for at least the next couple of years. That’s the deal. That’s how it’s got to be. And no matter how ill-prepared and confused I know myself to be, this is where I am now and I’ve got to commit. I’m growing weary of feeling on the cusp of an emotional breakdown, feeling a close in my throat and potential tears rushing up, waiting to spill any time anyone asks me, “So how’s your transition going?” That’s just silly. I really do like it here. I’ve got wonderful people all around me who are taking really great care of me. I love my students and I love that even though it’s ridiculous that I’m being asked to do all of these crazy things as a first year teacher, I’m building up one heck of a resume and skill set over here. And, bottom line, I didn’t pick this place and this job out of some imaginary hat. The Lord’s got me here on purpose. I’ve just got to let that sink in—and quickly, too—so that I can really start living here.

* * * * * * * * * *

Last weekend, all of the teachers at WNS went on a retreat over a long weekend. It was so wonderful to finally have a chance to get outside of Nairobi. We stayed at a little “resort” called Lukenya Getaway, which is owned by the parents of a couple of our students. On our drive out there, we drove through some bush and stumbled upon some gazelles, giraffes and zebras, just munching at trees along the side of the road. How very African, huh? :) It was a an absolutely gorgeous weekend, and we all took full advantage of the sunlight, coming back to Nairobi a little pinker than when we left. I roomed with Becca, and it was nice to have a real mattress—I slept like a rock—but the mosquito nets hanging from the ceilings are always a tip-off that you’re not in heaven after all.

A few of the high school girls were at Lukenya as well, which made it a little less of a “getaway,” but was lovely all the same. Two of the girls are the daughters of our middle school English teacher, Sue, and they have the most beautiful Australian accents. Love them. And then the daughter of the resort’s owners was there with a friend of hers from school as well. We sat around at tea time the first day (*wait…I’ve got to say this while I’m on the subject: I am fully convinced that a lack of a daily time to take tea provides a very possible reason that Americans are so uptight. The Brits, Aussies, and Kenyans all take tea—and they’re amazingly relaxed. Think about it. Maybe you just need some tea in your lives.) and one of the girls decided to begin a little girl-talk session about dating and boys. Oh boy.

I suppose that Becca is used to these conversations and solicitations for personal information, but I’m certainly not. And that's been an adjustment I hadn't planned on having to make here. I remember being warned over and over again in my methods courses as an education student to "be friendly, not familiar," and I'm realizing that that's a lot easier said than done here at WNS. On my birthday, kids were asking over and over, "How old are you?" They were relentless. I finally started saying, "34," and leaving it at that. A kid requested me as a friend on Facebook the other day and I had to decline. On my first day, a girl asked me what the ring on my left hand meant. They know where I live. As the freshman advisor (don't know how I ended up with that job!), I'm required to plan an outside-of-school "fun" event for them every semester and it's a tradition for the female high school teachers to hold a lock-in for the high school girls every year. We ran into eight juniors last night at the Chinese restaurant we went to for dinner--they were seated right next to us as we were finishing our meals. And then at the retreat, these high school girls were asking me how many boys I've dated and if I'm in a relationship right now. And Becca told me the other day that in her French class, one of the girls who was at the retreat with us had mentioned that she likes me better outside of class than in class. I mean, how on earth am I supposed to maintain any shred of professionalism in these circumstances? Is that still a priority--or because I'm in a Christian school in Africa, should I just be their friend and be done with it? I suppose if that's a huge dilemma in my life, I'm doing alright :)

It is exciting to find ways to invest in these kids' lives and encourage them as their teacher. I've been to a few of the boys' soccer (it's SO hard for me to call it football...especially when I know I'm missing watching the Bucks this season!) and girls' basketball games to take photos for yearbook. Having the yearbook production and theatre arts electives courses means I get to spend more time with a bunch of the high school kids and get to engage in activities that are a little less "academic," too. The high school teaching staff sit with kids at lunch every day in the bandas and somehow the students don't mind, God bless them. And inevitably, every time we leave the house to run an errand or go out to eat or see a movie, there's a familiar student face. It's not so bad. I really do love my students, and it's nice to have them want to know me on a personal level.

* * * * * * * * * *

Some recent "This is Africa..." moments:

• At Monday Mzuri Madness (a special deal at the movie theatre where you get your movie ticket, popcorn, soda, and either a hotdog or chocolate for the equivalent of about 6 bucks), before the movie begins, a video of the Kenyan flag waving in the breeze comes on the screen and everyone stands as the Kenyan national anthem plays.
• Amy bought Jen's car from her last week and went to put her name in the car's records. Turns out, the girl whose name the car was in was never put in the books, so technically, the dealership still owns the car.
• It rained the last three afternoons. Usually, our drive home takes about 25 minutes each afternoon. Those rainy days, it took nearly an hour because of traffic pile-ups at intersections and people avoiding flooded potholes.
• I picked up my bank card the other day at I & M, the bank where the school set up acounts for us. I walked in, said, "I work at West Nairobi School and I'm here to pick up my debit card," the man asked me what my name was, pulled out two books, had me sign in each, and handed me over the card, no other questions asked.
• Nakumatt, the main grocery store chain here in Nairobi, has a popcorn man stationed outside every day, a guard standing outside with a baseball helmet on, and plastic bags with a cartoon elephant saying, "Have a Nakumatt Day!"
• The new male teachers at the school, Jonathan and Joel, are sharing an apartment. I think this is two and a half weeks now that they haven't had water. The rainstorms the other day, though, filled up the reserves, and so now all they do is pray for rain.

Life in Kenya is hilarious. Thanks for reading. God bless--and please keep in touch!

Kate