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