Affirmation and Reconstruction

Appreciated, Appreciative

It’s teacher appreciation week here at WNS. As a grade school student, I don’t remember doing a darn thing for my teachers during the designated week of appreciation. I vaguely remember the student council using those big paint markers to write in the windows of the commons area a big blue and white “We Appreciate Our Teachers!” message, and I’m sure that the administrators and PTA did some nice stuff, but as a student, I think that every year, that week effectively came and went…unnoticed.

And so it’s been lovely in the middle of this stressful second semester to take some time out from it all and be reminded that people do care. In our pigeon-holes, the teachers each received a rose, a real, live Snickers bar (the Kenyan chocolate is just not good), a gift certificate to Java House (about the closest you’ll get to American dining around here), and a bag of peanuts (…?). On Tuesday, during our typical staff devotions time, our remedial program teacher, Sarah, asked us each to write our names on a piece of paper and circulate them around the room to give and receive encouragement. When I got mine back, I wondered whether the reiterated comment that centered upon the compliment “you’re a hard worker” was simply a bit of praise…or whether it was a nice way of saying, “You look frazzled, like, all the time.” I’ll just take the compliment.

The Parent-Teacher Fellowship ladies printed up big cards for each of the teachers that our students passed around to sign over the last few days, and they appeared in our mailboxes yesterday afternoon. Among my favorite comments are:

“You Rock! W-E-I-A-N-T Hoo Ray!”

“Very energetic and inspirational. Always there when we need you. Thanks for being the best!”

“Hi I kinda dig your class”

“You make English soo cool. Poetry especially. When I’m famous, I’ll mention you in my autobiography. PROMISE.”

And: “For shiggidi Ms. Weiant. Thank you! Gracias! Asante Sana!” …the words “I 2nd that!” written by another student were connected with an arrow.

One of my ESL students also wrote two Chinese characters and his name in English. I guess I’ll never know what he said. He’s a sweet boy, though. Always smiling. Many of the comments had to do with how “energetic,” “enthusiastic,” “creative,” and “optimistic” I am as a teacher—and for as often as I feel like I’m running around like a clueless maniac, I consider that high praise. I was a little embarrassed to receive so many grammatically atrocious notes from my English students, and it’s still amazing to me how my six-letter little last name still gets butchered after six months, but I can’t tell you what a “hug” that card was. It’s been easy to get swept up in the “job” of teaching and forget that I’m here to make a personal impact on each of my students’ lives…and that that’s happening, somehow, right under my nose.

The encouragement continued when I found out that our Spanish teacher, Lynne, had had her students write letters of encouragement and affirmation to teachers as an assignment last week. Each student was to select one of their teachers and write them a letter that Lynne would place in our boxes. Two of my junior students, “L” and “K,” had decided to write me letters. Both of these students are real pleasures to have in class (“L,” for example, has decided that he wants to take drama next year, and for the last two weeks, seems to be “auditioning” for me all the time…everything’s become so dramatic and goofy), but both had had a bit of a rough first semester. “L” couldn’t seem to turn in anything on time (his mom seems to have gotten on his back…good for her), and in her struggles with some personal and emotional stress, I even had to give “K” a zero for a plagiarized assignment she turned in during a particularly bad week. So both letters began with sincere, thoughtful apologies—which surprised me, but I was impressed with their earnestness and maturity. Both seemed embarrassed to have let me down, and made promises to do their best in the future. “L” thanked me for “leaving my homeland in the USA” and “K” thanked me for a note I’d written on her Multigenre paper from last semester, saying she’d “never forget it.” “L” included a drawing of a boy reading a book, and “K” gave me a Cadbury chocolate bar and a necklace with a butterfly charm on it (very “high school,” but totally sweet). Again, I was blown away by the thoughtfulness of the students and colleagues I’ve got around me. These are truly beautiful people, and I’m so thankful for them.

Valentines, Drama, and Revelations

The tenth grade class decided to put on a fund-raising event Saturday evening for Valentine’s Day. There’s been tons of teenage drama all week. Apparently, it became an unwritten rule that this was an event which couples should attend, and therefore it would be completely unthinkable to show up dateless. I explained to several high school girls that I usually went “stag” to events like this as a high school and college student, and I turned out alright…but my aged wisdom seems to have fallen on deaf ears. The sophomores also got greedy and decided to invite the middle-schoolers, but primarily because of the extra 450 Ksh a head they’ll rake in with the extended invitation. Drama, drama, drama. I’ll tell you what, though—I’d wondered before I began teaching what it would be like to experience high school relationships from a teacher perspective, and I often giggled at the thought of chaperoning a homecoming dance or prom.

So I got suckered into chaperoning the event, along with several other high school teachers. Friday was a half-day off of school, and we’ve got Monday off as well, so I didn’t feel as though I was losing out on precious weekend time. From noon until six, Becca and I were left without a car, so we hung out around campus getting work done and watching Mr. Holland’s Opus in a classroom. I always liked that movie, but now that I’m a teacher, I’m not so sure I’m the biggest fan of some of the things that go down in Mr. Holland’s classroom. Anyway—after a week of auditions with my drama students, I finally posted the cast list for our production of The Man Who Came to Dinner Friday afternoon. I think I only made two students sad, so I consider that pretty darn successful. My wonderful mother spent hours copying a few scripts for me a couple of months ago, and I selected this particular one mainly because it was the one play that had a significant number of female parts (I’ve got some pretty fabulous girls in the class). But I did have to spend several hours reading through the script, locating trouble spots with language and/or innuendo not entirely appropriate for a Christian school, white-out in hand. Two other teachers, Mike and Steven, have also offered to help out with the production when they can. Steven already helps me with the yearbook, and enjoyed drama as a student, and Mike is actually a pretty serious thespian—he even appeared for a brief stint in the 70’s on The Young and the Restless. It’s a pretty funny show. If all goes as planned, it should be a hit.

I spent about three hours Friday afternoon copying scripts and binding them using the school’s decrepit binding machine that ultimately broke and I had to put the little plastic things on by hand. The whole idea was to get some scripts out to kids who would be at the banquet that night so they could read them over the long weekend. I suppose I’ll find out Tuesday whether that plan’ll work out or not. But back to the Valentine’s banquet...what a fun night! I was actually surprised at how much I enjoyed myself. I mean, I remember back to my own middle and high school dances and social event experiences and, honestly, get a little sick to my stomach. Lots of bad behavior, big attitudes, and unmet expectations. They were always a little disappointing. But these kiddos really put on a pretty fantastic event. They spent the afternoon spiffing up the chapel into a delightfully tacky little banquet hall—complete with papered tables and beribboned containers of crayons, pink and red balloons everywhere, and flashing Christmas lights taped to the wall in “love heart” shapes (it's not just a "heart" here--you have to specify with the "love" part).

And the kids were SO well-behaved! With the exception of a few young ladies who arrived in dresses I’m surprised their papas let them leave the house in, everything went off without a hitch. The tenth-graders put together a yummy-looking dinner with steak kebabs, potatoes, some Kenyan dishes, and desserts. Because so many extra kids showed up at the door, the teachers were reduced to picking off of student plates (I’m not kidding). It’s amazing what these youngsters will let go to waste :) Becca and I had helped the tenth-grade ladies come up with some mixer games, and those were a hit, but nothing compared to the reception that two musically-talented tenth grade brothers (oh man, I wish I could put their names down…they’re SO great!) received when they played a few songs for dinner entertainment. I really can’t tell you how great these two fellas are.

Right before their “show,” I caught the two of them waiting outside, each holding an arm around the other, praying over their performance. Class acts, right there. And, while I feel a little silly over this, I ought to tell you anyway: watching those boys pray and then get up and give a God-glorifying performance actually put a few tears in my eyes. I had one of those “I love my job!” moments, right then and there. I feel so blessed to have been given the opportunity to get to know these students and I feel a tremendous weight of responsibility in my attempt to teach them. A year from now, I’ll have already had to make the decision about whether I’ll continue my contract at WNS for another year—and right now, I know that’ll be such a tough decision to make. Because as much as I miss you all and everything back in the States, it’s really impossible right now for me to think of leaving this place. It’s ironic that I had such an emotional response in that moment, because, if I’m honest with you, I had a completely opposite experience earlier in the week. One where, I’m ashamed to say, I caught myself saying, “I hate my job” under my breath. And boy, that was the worst. I was so angry with myself for even thinking the words, but I suppose that under the weight of all the pressures and responsibilities that come hand in hand with this job, I just felt under-supported and overwhelmed.

In the end, though, I’m certain that the Lord gave me such contrasting experiences in such a brief space of time with a purpose in mind. It’s good that I understand that this is a tough job, and that I don’t take that lightly. It’s also good that I voice the need for young teachers to be supported and embraced, rather than left to fend for themselves. But it’s also good that I recognize the beauty in my circumstances, and the joy that comes from my serving these kids. It’s a delicate balance, and it’s a special thing.

Prayer Requests:

- Please continue to pray for Kenya in this season of famine. People are hungry, tired, weary, and growing desperate. I know that it’s strange for people as blessed as you and I to comprehend the idea of someone living in fear that their basic needs will not be met, but I pray that you will send out your thoughts and prayers to this suffering nation.
- Please also pray for WNS—and in particular, its leadership. Our former director resigned in January and our current principal and interim director are having a difficult time this year coping with all the strain of running a school and keeping things going. We are in the process of hiring a new director for next year, and so I would ask that you pray that we locate and hire a Godly, capable, courageous, and encouraging new leader for our school.
- Along the same lines, we are also hiring about nine new people to join our staff next year—both to fill the positions of staff who will not be returning, as well as to fill some new positions (especially over in our high school). We’ll be needing Godly elementary, high school, and electives teachers, as well as some support staff for next year. It’s amazing how much the attitude of a school staff affects the structure, effectiveness, and overall environment of a school—and so I ask that you would join me in prayer that the Lord would direct the right people to this place to join us in our ministry here. [By the way, if you’re an educator yourself, and you feel the Lord might be directing you to teach in an international school and you’d like to look into finding a place at WNS or another NICS school, check out the website at www.nics.org to search for available positions. We’d LOVE to have you!]

<3 "Love Heart,"

Kate

Where'd January Go?

You’ve probably wondered where I’ve gone…what mischief I’ve been up to here in Kenya. After all, with a rogue bull elephant on a safari to the Maasai Mara charging at our van, the post-Obama-inauguration ecstasy of the Kenyan people (including exuberant dancing in the streets of Nairobi), a 24-hour virus that had me hugging a toilet for the first time in nine years, and a startlingingly fast onset of a spring fever epidemic here at school, I could have been done in by any of a number of things. But all silliness aside, I’m happy to be writing to you again. I’d avoided writing for a while, thinking that all of a sudden, my life had become uninteresting. I didn’t want to bore you. But I’ve realized that there is plenty to tell—and even if there wasn’t, it’s always worth connecting with you all every now and then.

Famine and Fire

I’m going to start on a low note this time around. I feel that those of you thinking about and praying for me and my ministry here ought to know about some of the things affecting Kenya right now. Over the past several rainy seasons, Kenya has been experiencing failed rains after failed rains after failed rains. Farmers here are growing anxious and desperate, anguishing over every sprout that shoots up, only to shrivel under the scortching sun. We’re now in what’s been officially labeled a “food shortage,” “famine,” and “crisis.” And I’ll admit that I’ve been quite numb to the effects of this crisis on the Kenyan nation, as the shortage of maize and other large crops hasn’t affected major cities like Nairobi, except in slight raises in food prices. But the reality is that nearly one in four Kenyans are starving right now. Millions of people. Families don’t know where their next meal is coming from, and I read in yesterday’s newspaper that several Kenyan children have starved to death—one thirteen-year-old boy even poisoned himself by eating poisonous tree fruit he’d found scrounging through a thicket for berries to curb his hunger. It’s devastating [photo from MSNBC].

The church that I have been attending here, Emmanuel Baptist Church, is rallying together with a few other local churches to organize the distribution of food to Kenyans upcountry. The pastors are working closely with twelve churches in particularly devastated areas to identify the families in need and all of our churches’ donations will be spread out over the next several months so that people will be taken care of until the rains hopefully pick back up again. I was talking to my dad the other day via Skype and we discussed for a bit the effects of the economic depression back in the States on our family, friends, and the nation as a whole. It seems that the whole world is suffering. I’ve never been more aware of the smallness of my own needs, and the greatness of the needs of others.

And to hear the testimonies of people here who have seen the effects of this famine first-hand is overwhelming. Our friend Maureen visited the other day over lunch to visit with Becca, Jen and I. She shared her experiences of visiting family outside of Nairobi and the hardships that they are encountering. The local well had apparently dried up, and so she joined the women in their long hike to the nearest place to gather water. The other ladies carried fifteen-liter barrels atop their heads, but, knowing Maureen to be a “city girl,” they handed her a seven-liter jug and started out. Maureen chuckled at remembering several children squealing out, “Look at that big girl with that small bucket!” Maureen shared that she had been exhausted throughout the hike, asking to stop several times along the trip back. By the time they arrived home, Maureen had drunk most of the water in her own jug. She recalled that the weekend visit had been “fun” for her, but her countenance fell as she expressed that it’s certainly no “fun” for these people who live this way. She seemed to anguish over how difficult life has become for her fellow Kenyans. “I have taken so many things for granted. These people are living such a hard life,” she mourned. “It makes me so thankful for what I have.”

Additionally, Nairobi is reeling in the aftermath of a local disaster. This past Wednesday, there was a power outage downtown and so many businesses had turned on their backup generators for power. Unfortunately, though, the Nakumatt (like a Wal-Mart) downtown had a fire begin in its generator room and the building quickly caught fire. I remember meeting with my discipler, Kara, that evening and there had been a great deal of traffic coming out of the city centre—Kara’d explained that the fire was probably the cause. The next morning, my roommates and I bought a newspaper on the way to school and there still were no reported injuries or casualties at that time. But during our visit with Maureen, she shared that she had had a high school classmate, a local actress, die in the fire and that her story had become very public on the news. The death count had leapt to twenty-one. Maureen also shared the sad news that as the fire blazed, as in many other such crisis situations, Kenyan shoppers had begun to loot the store and the managers had the doors shut. Those twenty-one people might have lived had the managers not worried about a few thousand shillings’ worth of goods stolen from their shelves. Many people are mourning and angry about the call made by the Nakumatt staff (who, unfortunately, belong to a long-hated ethnic group in Kenya), and racist rumors are spreading quickly around Nairobi. It’s bad enough that the tragedy happened in the first place, but I fear that far worse will come from the hatred and resentment stored in the hearts of the people in this place [photo from africannews.com].

Please pray for the starving, angry, mourning, and lost here in Kenya.

New Semester

So I’ve officially been here in Kenya for six months. Big milestone, huh? I feel like I’m a little more “official” now. I got my official resident’s card a while back (my face fills the entire photo frame on the little orange card…I look like a blimp) and so now I can get into national parks and things for cheaper than a tourist. Vendors at the Maasai market asked how long I’d been in Kenya when I visited last weekend and when I said six months, they seemed to automatically gear up to lower their asking prices. It’s a small kind of accomplishment, I suppose. I feel like I’m learning and figuring things out.

I suppose that this also transfers over to teaching, too. After a successful first semester (and by successful, I mean that I don’t think I completely ruined any children), things are on the up-and-up. I feel a little more confident in my ability to plan lessons and teach well. Which is good, because remember—this is the semester that I somehow have to produce a yearbook by the end of May and put on a play before the end of April. Whoa, baby. If I can finish up this semester in one piece and come back to you in June, you’ll have my permission to heartily congratulate me. It’s going to be that big of a deal.

Actually, while Yearbook and Theatre Arts had been large contributors to my anxiety over the break and at the beginning of the semester, I’m finding that the good news is: I really do enjoy teaching these classes. NICS has been posting positions that its schools will need to fill for next year, and so some of us checked out the website the other day to see whether all of the positions we’re anticipating will need to be filled for WNS next year were up. I noticed that the NICS school in Seoul, South Korea had a full-time drama position open—and I thought to myself, “Hey—that would be kind of fun.” So at least I like what I’m doing. Even if it’ll kill me before I turn 23.

The freshmen are in the middle of a short story unit. I’ve got four new ESL students in my classroom, along with dear, sweet Mrs. Ommen (new to WNS, too—her husband is our principal), who has taken over as our ESL teacher. One student speaks fairly good English—the others are pretty clueless. So I figured writing children’s stories would be a good group activity to introduce these students into our class. What I got was a bit disappointing. One group of particularly goofy boys wrote a totally cheesy story about an Indian hamster who was devastated at losing his accent in an accident—and somehow gained superhuman strength somewhere in the story. Lame. These are the kids who had begun to master Shakespeare by the end of last semester. Just goes to show how much intelligence you can lose over a three-week Christmas break. Back to Poe and James Thurber.

My tenth-graders are reading Things Fall Apart as part of a thematic unit I’ve called “Worlds Collide.” The book is basically a narrative about a Nigerian man and his family’s tribal life at the turn of the century. About two-thirds of the way through the novel, Okonkwo watches his world change when white missionaries enter the Ibo village with the message of the Gospel. It’s a fascinating book, but this idea of “worlds colliding” and our responsibility to one another as human beings, regardless of our “tongue, tribe, or nation” really resonated with me as I read it. So as an initial activity to get things going in the class, I had the students write poems that either dealt with a personal encounter with their own worldview coming into “contact” with another worldview (either a positive or a negative experience) or as a response to our discussion of “normal” and “otherness” in our world. The poems I received were really interesting. One American student—a missionary kid—wrote a poem about her frustration with feeling as though she can’t fully belong in her Kenyan friendship circles, and that it’s the same when she heads back to the States and doesn’t completely fit in there, either. Another girl wrote about her frustration with being perceived as a tomboy and even accused of being a lesbian, simply because of her taste for rough sports, “wild” clothing and hair coloring choices, and the fact that she keeps company with mainly male friends. Another student wrote from the perspective of God, writing to his children, reaffirming them in their individuality and assuring them that they “belong” to Him. Totally interesting.

The eleventh-graders are reading The Great Gatsby. They hate the guy. I’m not surprised—he is kind of a loser.
Safari

Forgot to tell y’all about my safari to the Mara over Christmas break. I’ll be posting photos on Facebook soon—I think I took about 300. Most of them were pretty fuzzy or pixilated—I might need to invest in a camera with a better zoom one of these days. But the experience was fantastic. The Bussell family and another WNS teacher, Lynne, joined me, Amy P., Julie, and Jonathan at the Mara Simba Lodge and we had a pretty excellent time. Three game drives, good meals, and a firm mattress—mmm, bliss. Our driver, Charles, was a great guy. A member of the Luo tribe, he had tons of insight into the cultural and literal landscape of the place and I feel like I learned a ton from the guy. We saw some great stuff on our game drives—a mother cheetah and her two nearly-grown cubs, a huge herd of Cape buffalo munching on grasses at daybreak, that lone bull elephant I mentioned earlier (he charged at another safari van and we high-tailed it out of there), and a particularly amazing group of four male lions feasting on a giraffe breakfast. And I realized as we drove around that I was experiencing one of those vacations that some people can only dream about. An African safari. Pretty darn cool.

On our second day, Julie, Amy, Jonathan, and I visited a Maasai village. Needless to say, it was a pretty surreal experience. As we listened to “John,” one of the Maasai elders, explain the ritual, the four of us were dragged into a Maasai “welcome dance” involving a lot of jumping, grunting, yelling, and a hat made from a lion mane. I couldn’t help but feel a little silly. I felt as though a hundred thousand similar groups of mzungus had invaded before us with their cameras, shorts, and sunglasses…that perhaps some fat British lady once urged her husband ages ago to jump into the middle of the group of Maasai warriors so she could document the experience with her little disposable camera—and now they think that’s what all the crazy white folks like to do. Gawk and giggle. A woman thrust her baby in my hands at one point and indicated that Amy should take a picture. Beautiful little boy, but still a little bizarre. I remembered later that we’d paid the thousand shilling “entry fee” and understood a little better. It must be strange to have someone come into your home and invade your privacy and way of life. But I suppose the money comes in handy, so they welcome the white folks and their cameras in. John told us that our “donations” would be going towards building a school in the area for Maasai children. I told him that as teachers ourselves, we were glad to help. I’m happy to have had the experience, though. Definitely unforgettable.

Additional Prayer Requests

- I've got some "unspoken" ones this time around. Just some things that are weighing heavily on me lately and that I'd like to see the Lord use to help me grow closer to Him. I'm sure he can and will.

- Please also continue to pray for the students here at WNS and for their hearts to be receptive to the things we're encouraging them in. We've got some pretty rebellious kiddos--especially in the middle school--and it's been difficult to love them at times. I'm excited at the potential to see some of these kids really change their lives around.

Thanks, all--let me know how you're doing, too! I'd love to hear from you guys!