October Newsletter

Muriega! My second month in Kenya is quickly coming to a close, and I am not sure if I have written yet about the beauty of this place. Central Province is by far one of the loveliest places I have ever seen. My school is surrounded by coffee farms and small shambas. The soil is a deep reddish-brown color, and it grows everything from sukuma, carrots, potatoes, onions, and tomatoes, to mangos, avocados, bananas, and sugar cane. The sky and the vegetation have that vibrant color to them that all equatorial lands share because the sunlight makes everything seem brighter.
Life in rural Kenya is much slower and simpler than any place I have ever lived before, yet in some ways it resembles life in small-town South Carolina. People are friendly, they greet each other on the street, and everything the wazungu (aka Kari and I) do gets seen by someone and passed along the chain to everyone else. On the way home from a walk one afternoon, one of the gatekeepers at Icaciri stopped Kari and I on the road to invite us into his home. Mzee Henry, as we call him, has lived in this area for his entire life. His home is next door to that of his brother, which is the home where his parents lived until their deaths. We were able to meet his wife, Susan, and to have tea and nduma with them. I cannot even begin to explain the depth of Kenyan hospitality. I thought that the South held the prize for hospitality, but we cannot even hold a candle to the people here. No matter what someone has, they are willing to share it, and always the best of it with you. They are always willing to have less so that you can have more. Wageni, the word for stranger is the also the word for visitor or guest. Therefore, around here, there are no strangers, everyone is a guest of the community and is welcomed accordingly. People all along our road invite us into their homes to eat their food and join their families. I already have at least two Gatundu mamis and at least six cucus (pronounced shoo-shoo) or grandmothers. There is no way that I can ever repay the graciousness with which I have been received, so I only hope to show gratitude in my actions and behavior.
Despite the gracious hospitality and seeming availability of fresh produce, I come face to face with hunger and poverty every day both within and outside of the Icaciri compound. Just this week about a third of our students were sent home for failure to pay school fees which amount to about $400 a year. You see, primary education in Kenya is free, but secondary school must be paid for by families, and for people living hand-to-mouth, that is a lot of money. One of the most striking conversations I have had this month occurred on the road one afternoon. A man stopped Kari and I as we were walking to a kiosk for some cabbage. The first time we met this man, he was sitting at the gate in front of our school compound, and he looked up at us with tears in his eyes, calling us his savior. This time, he admitted to being a bit drunk before, but now he was completely sober and carrying a heavy load of firewood. He asked if we could help him in anyway. We tried to explain that we are just volunteers and are teaching at Icaciri for the year through the church. But he insisted that we have steady jobs and income, and that he can struggle from morning to night to earn even a single dollar. He was asking for anything, even a suggestion of how he could better his life, and we had nothing to offer. So often here, I feel like I come up short when it comes to helping others. I feel a deep, unutterable sadness rising within me that asks why the world is in the condition that it is? A sadness that wonders at the luxury of my life at home when families here struggle for food and survival. The same system that offered me so many advantages is built on the exploitation of others; others who now have names and faces, others who invite me into their homes for tea and nduma. As I think about the systems that gave me so much and gives others so little, I am forced to ask what difference the cross can make in this world? What difference does the scandal that is Christ crucified make in my life and in the way I live? As Christians we cannot fix all of the problems in the world, but what a difference it would make if we were willing to give of ourselves and our time in a way that resembled Jesus Christ. What if we were willing to have less so that others could have enough?
Some of the problems here seem rather overwhelming to me with my very American sensibilities, but in every conversation that I have with a Kenyan, they insist that "Kenya is a good place." Whether we are talking about the corruption that runs rampant in the government, the tribalism which still causes conflict all over the country, or the poverty you see all around, the conversation always ends in the same way: "but this is a good place." The lyrics of a song we sing in worship expresses this sentiment perfectly:

The time to be happy is now,
the place to be happy is here,
and the way to be happy is to make someone happy
and to bring a little heaven down here.

Amen. The way to be happy is to make someone else happy, and in doing so we bring a little of the divinity of Christ into the humanity of our lives. May God bless and keep you.

Mungu awabariki,
Lauren

Learning to Laugh

I have always thought that I am pretty good at being able to laugh at myself, but Kenya has taught me a new appreciation for this skill. You see most of the time in Gatundu everyone else is laughing at me, so I have little choice but to join in the fun. From our very first day at Icaciri, the students have enjoyed my accent and the differences in my hair and skin color. They spend a great deal of time during worship watching me fail miserably at the traditional dances that must seem so natural to them.The teachers, too, join in the amusement, and make a game of trying to pronounce words the way that I do, or of watching my face as I hesitantly try to chew up goat intestines at lunch.
One afternoon as Kari and I walked a little ways down the road to get some bananas, a group of primary school children stood in their yard literally pointing at us and laughing so hard that they were falling over.
Similarly, on a recent visit to the market, I walked up to one of the local sellers to buy a basket so we could carry our vegetables home, and upon simply saying hello, the lady burst into hysterical laughter. What? Then I remembered, many of the older villagers speak only Kikuyu, so I am sure my English sounds like nonsense to her.
Every time we leave the school compound, groups of primary school children follow us down the road giggling and whispering in Kiswahili, and I feel like a very real version of the pied piper.
While drinking a coke one time at a kiosk near our school, a little girl approached us, very slowly and cautiously. When she was close enough, she peeked up at Kari and I with wide eyes, we smiled at her and asked habari yako? Immediately she turned and ran screaming in the other direction. I don't think I have ever scared a small child before, but the other people gathered at the stand found the incident hilarious. Of course.
At times, I get frustrated at people's reaction to me. I am tired of repeating myself countless times and of having to explain things in five different ways before I am understood. Then I remember that I am a guest here. Everyone I have met has been immensely patient with me as I butcher their language and misunderstand their customs. I can't even pronounce some of the Kikuyu vowel sounds because my mouth refuses to move in certain ways. Yet my teachers are loving and encouraging; they rejoice with me at even the smallest successes. If I remember a word for even a couple of days, they are incredibly impressed.
As I look at my life here, I wonder how much time our Lord must spend laughing at the situations that He has led me into. What a sight it must be to Almighty God watching two wazungu walking down a dirt road surrounded by a bunch of barefoot children trying to communicate in any way that doesn't require actual words. How funny He must find it when I repeatedly say I am fine instead of How are you? when greeting people in Kikuyu on the road. What a God we worship that He would fill my days with such joy and laughter.

Monastic Vows

Who knew that so much of my experience here in Kenya would be involved with brothers at a Benedictine Monastery? Or that so much of what I would learn would come from their selfless attitude of service and joy? Yet a couple of weeks ago, I found myself waking up to my alarm at 5:45 am, making the 4 km trek into Gatundu town, catching a matatu to Nairobi, a 6/9 bus to the city centre, and another vehicle the 45 minutes to Limuru so that we could make it in time to witness the ceremonial vows of five of the brothers we met during our earlier stay in Tigoni. They had lived and worked at the monastery for five years, and were now committing themselves to a lifetime as brothers. Of course, as travelling goes here, we were about thirty minutes late, but we made it just in time to hear the vows explained. They included stability and constancy in seeking God's will and searching for Him in all things, conversion and committment to a monastic lifestyle, and obedience to the superiors. It was an experience I find hard to articulate as I sat and watched the five brothers standing up there repeating their vows and was able to think about the community and way of life they committed themselves to. What a great mystery it is when God calls us to Himself, to abandon all other aspects of life out of love for Him, and what an even greater mystery when He then gives us back all of the wonders and joys of this life in a truer and more beautiful form. When we can experience love, faith, community, and humanity as they were intended.
When we first decided to attend the service, I assumed that monastic vows would be a dark, somber ceremony, full of rituals and chanting. At Tigoni, however, the entire day was full of joy, laughter, praise, dancing, and embraces... it was quite the celebration! The excitement was absolutely contagious. The chapel was decorated with streamers and balloons, and after the new brothers signed their vows, they got a hug from every single member of the monastery.
As they lined up for the Holy Communion procession, Kari and I were standing in the back of the chapel (since we were late) and Brother John called me over to carry the ceremonial wine and cup. Now I am neither Catholic nor Kenyan, so I nearly dropped the whole tray from shaking. But that is how they do things there, with a smile and a chuckle, everyone is included.
It made my day when a group of nuns preceeded those of us carrrying the sacraments and made their way down the aisle dancing and singing! It was one of the liveliest and most vibrant expressions of joy I have ever seen, and the entire ceremony did a remarkable job of combining Catholic tradition with a spirituality that is uniquely African.

My New Home

Mwathani agocwo! Sorry it has been such a long time since my last post... at the end of September we finished orientation, and I moved out to my placement for the year. I am now living at Icaciri Secondary School about a 4 km walk from Gatundu town up a red clay road that is going to be pretty impassable during the short rains later this month. Our school has about 300 students, 200 girls who board on campus and about 90 boys who are day scholars from the surrounding villages. It is definitely more rural than Nairobi, and I love it!
There is one other volunteer, Kari, stationed with me at Icaciri, and we are sharing a flat on the school compound. There is no electricity where we live except for three hours in the evening when the school generator is on from 7-10 pm, but we don't really need it for anything except light when we are cooking dinner so it hasn't been an issue thus far. Our kitchen consists of a sink, a counter, a single propane burner, and a small table for storing vegetables from the local market. Luckily we do have running water (most of the time) and a filter to make it drinkable.
Our first day at school was hilarious. Since we are more in the interior of the country now and away from the city, many of the villagers, including our students, have never interacted with a mzungu before. Kari and I got out of the car to shrieks of laughter and pointing from the windows of every classroom. Our first walk around that night ended up with us in a circle of about a hundred girls all patting our arms and rubbing our hair. Every time we opened our mouths to speak there was a fresh peel of laughter as our accents and version of English are much different than the Kenyan version. Luckily the girls are getting more used to us every day, and we are learning about a side of Kenya that we hadn't seen before.
I am teaching biology to the Form 1 students which is roughly equivalent to ninth graders in America. The school system is a lot different from ours, but very similar to the British system from what I hear, a remnant of colonial times and institutions. I think I will also have the chance to help teach CRE (Christian Religious Education) to some of the other Forms which should be an adventure as the Kenyan church and theology are uniquely their own as well.
I finally have an address and can receive letters at the school PO Box, so feel free to write to me anytime!

Icaciri Secondary School

PO Box 66

Gatundu 01030

Kenya