Hello everyone. It's been about 5 months since I've returned from my journey to Kenya. There isn't a day that goes by without me thinking about what I experienced there. In the future, I want to go back for a longer time--at least 6 months. 1 month was just not enough.
I want to thank everybody that kept up with my blog and even those who randomly stumbled across my blog.
I encourage everybody to read my blog from the beginning. My experience isn't the same as everbody elses and I'm sorry if I put too many memories from my childhood in there. But I guess a blog is a blog, right?
Thanks again,
Kwa Heri
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Still Blogging After Returning?
I don't know, I really like blogging. I figure I can just start another one, but I want to keep updating this one. Why not?
I've not given myself much time to be bored, considering that I shipped myself off to IMSA for my second Golden Apple summer institute a mere 5 days after coming back from Kenya. Living out of boxes and massive suitcases have become a specialty for me. The longest I've really ever lived somewhere this past year has been 4 months.
Summer institute has been such an amazing experience for me. Last year was fantastic, but I'm doing actual curriculum planning for the camp that we're running. It's entirely our camp, the eight of us. We're planning the lessons, we're teaching them, we're getting the materials. I can't believe that I'm getting the chance to do this. It's beyond my dreams. Earlier this school year, I went through a 3 week period where I switched my major 3 times. Just because you say you want to be a teacher doesn't mean you have everything figured out. Do I want to teach secondary math? Do bilingual? Do middle school science and math? Or do I want to teach secondary Bio? I'm still unsure of what grade level I want to teach, but deciding to join the Biology Education program has turned out to be the right choice. It turns out that I'm the only scholar within the group that is science based. Everybody is math, so all the purely science based lessons are up to me.
I don't know, when I think of teaching about DNA, and osmosis/diffusion, plant anatomy, I get so excited. This thrill goes through my veins and I this huge smile. Taking three science classes next semester and until graduation makes me a little wary considering that I haven't taken any yet, but I know God will provide me with what I need.
But besides the actual curriculum planning I'm doing, I'm having a blast with the other IMSA scholars. Whenever I look at our group, I am amazed at the diversity of our group. We have every major ethnic group represented every moment we hang out. I love it so much.
I can't believe how lucky I am to be a part this organization, this group of people striving to change a child's life, one at a time. And the best part of it is... I know that we'd do it for free. There was a scare a couple weeks ago: all of us scholars recieved a letter from ISAC saying that funding for Golden Apple had been cut to $0. We wouldn't be getting any scholarship money for the next year at all. A whole bunch of us started crying, naturally. A lot of us depend on Golden Apple money to fund for college. Not only that, the state of Illinois is cutting funding for MAP grants to 48%, which is a significant cut. And even further, didn't this mean the end of Golden Apple?
I just stood there, shaking in shock at the words in my hands. Salty tears filled my eyes and left trails down my cheeks. Elisabeth(my roommate) and I just held each other, unable to find words to describe our emotions. But at that moment, I had peace. I knew something would work out.
The most beautiful part of that scare, is that all of us voiced that we wouldn't leave Golden Apple even if we weren't going to get scholarship money. No monetary amount can put a price tag on the summer institutes, the school liasons, the connections you make, the friends you find. I think that part made me cry even more. During inductions, Mama C asked if each and every one us would teach for free. To teach in the most underpriviledged schools for the reward of seeing our students learn. I answered, without hesitation, yes. And put to the test, we all stayed true to our word.
About three days later, there was a huge meeting with state legislators, ISAC, and other such people. With our own Golden Apples speaking at the meeting, we were able to get half our funding back. I'm so thankful that God has taken care of one semester's worth. Thank God.
Becky
I've not given myself much time to be bored, considering that I shipped myself off to IMSA for my second Golden Apple summer institute a mere 5 days after coming back from Kenya. Living out of boxes and massive suitcases have become a specialty for me. The longest I've really ever lived somewhere this past year has been 4 months.
Summer institute has been such an amazing experience for me. Last year was fantastic, but I'm doing actual curriculum planning for the camp that we're running. It's entirely our camp, the eight of us. We're planning the lessons, we're teaching them, we're getting the materials. I can't believe that I'm getting the chance to do this. It's beyond my dreams. Earlier this school year, I went through a 3 week period where I switched my major 3 times. Just because you say you want to be a teacher doesn't mean you have everything figured out. Do I want to teach secondary math? Do bilingual? Do middle school science and math? Or do I want to teach secondary Bio? I'm still unsure of what grade level I want to teach, but deciding to join the Biology Education program has turned out to be the right choice. It turns out that I'm the only scholar within the group that is science based. Everybody is math, so all the purely science based lessons are up to me.
I don't know, when I think of teaching about DNA, and osmosis/diffusion, plant anatomy, I get so excited. This thrill goes through my veins and I this huge smile. Taking three science classes next semester and until graduation makes me a little wary considering that I haven't taken any yet, but I know God will provide me with what I need.
But besides the actual curriculum planning I'm doing, I'm having a blast with the other IMSA scholars. Whenever I look at our group, I am amazed at the diversity of our group. We have every major ethnic group represented every moment we hang out. I love it so much.
I can't believe how lucky I am to be a part this organization, this group of people striving to change a child's life, one at a time. And the best part of it is... I know that we'd do it for free. There was a scare a couple weeks ago: all of us scholars recieved a letter from ISAC saying that funding for Golden Apple had been cut to $0. We wouldn't be getting any scholarship money for the next year at all. A whole bunch of us started crying, naturally. A lot of us depend on Golden Apple money to fund for college. Not only that, the state of Illinois is cutting funding for MAP grants to 48%, which is a significant cut. And even further, didn't this mean the end of Golden Apple?
I just stood there, shaking in shock at the words in my hands. Salty tears filled my eyes and left trails down my cheeks. Elisabeth(my roommate) and I just held each other, unable to find words to describe our emotions. But at that moment, I had peace. I knew something would work out.
The most beautiful part of that scare, is that all of us voiced that we wouldn't leave Golden Apple even if we weren't going to get scholarship money. No monetary amount can put a price tag on the summer institutes, the school liasons, the connections you make, the friends you find. I think that part made me cry even more. During inductions, Mama C asked if each and every one us would teach for free. To teach in the most underpriviledged schools for the reward of seeing our students learn. I answered, without hesitation, yes. And put to the test, we all stayed true to our word.
About three days later, there was a huge meeting with state legislators, ISAC, and other such people. With our own Golden Apples speaking at the meeting, we were able to get half our funding back. I'm so thankful that God has taken care of one semester's worth. Thank God.
Becky
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Back in the States
So I'm back.
I just am lost on what to start with. Being back is like, well, it reminds me of the House episode I watched the night before traveling home. This girl had cancer that ranged from her heart all the way to her lungs, and also her brain. House used a crazy method to cure her: "rebooting" her nine year old body by freezing her a brief amount of time. It's like I was in hibernation. Everybody knew I was alive, but just not available. My life was put on hold.
I come back to such a well off home. We have a steady source of electricity, clean bathrooms, decent beds. I don't have to worry about getting run over by a bus, walking in sewage water, nor get hassled for money. I went on a walk yesteray and was amazed to see the well kept sidewalks, the cleanly cut grass, the stop lights and people following traffic rules. What a different world.
I have fit back into my niche at home, waking up early to make a cake for my sister's birthday, waking up my brother by whispering into his ear, finding my mother praying on her knees at 5 AM, creating a trail of mess wherever I go around. I've changed, but I haven't changed.
Thankfully, the trip back home wasn't as hard as the way there. British airways is simply an amazing airline, complete with comfortable seats, a good selection of movies, and fantastic food. I always ended up with an aisle seat, so problems with claustraphobia were not a worry. My flights where also 5 hours apart, which gave me time to walk around and check into customs without the brimming urge to shove people out of my way.
To the last moment of my trip, I made memorable experiences. Both people I sat next to on the trip were amazing to meet. The first trip from Kenya, I sat next to a girl who is going to be a senior at Ball State University. She's a speech pathology major, who had just finished a semester abroad in England and then off to Kenya just a month after coming back home. We sat for hours talking about Kenya before we conked out. The plane left at about 11:40 PM, so it was bed time for us. She had stayed with a group from her University the entire time, so she didn't get to do some of the same things I did. I loved describing to her what a matatu ride was like, discussing Kenyan politics, and my hopes for the country. She shared stories of her previous travels to Europe and Japan.
For my second flight, I actually didn't talk to the person I sat next to until the last 2 hours of my trip. Somehow, we just started talking to each other, not knowing that we had been on the same flight black from Kenya. What a small world, that we'd get on teh same flight from Kenya, wait the same 5 hours for the next flight, and get on teh exact same plane for Chicago? It turns out that she's from Somalia, but had lived in Kenya for 10 years, Uganda for 3, and Minnesota for 4. She knew Swahili, English, Ugandan, Somalian, and German. What a selection of languages! And just as I was about to get off the plane, I talked to the parents of 3 girls all under the age of 6 who had lived in portugal, Malaysia, England, and Wisconsin. The girls knew Portugese, what they speak in Malaysia, and English. I couldn't help but be jealous.
Talking to these people makes me want to travel to Korea so badly. I'm pretty serious about going to Korea after graduating and spending a year there teaching English. I might do a program in Buenos Aires, Argentina for a TESOL certificate, an international certificate to teach English. I haven't even been to Seoul before!
It was exciting to show my family what I had gotten them, and I was pleased to see that each person absolutely loved what I got them. They are all practical things, like wooden cooking spoon for my mother, a scarf and giraffe doorstop for Irene, a rock for my brother's collection, coffee for dad. Then there are the general banana peel paintings for the living room, and a big Maasai blanket for the couch.
I keep thinking about my last day in Kenya. Saying goodbye to my kiddies was so painful, especially Standard 7. All the students, even the boys, came up to hug me. Samuel gave me a ring so that I can remember Kenya. Lucky, the boy I walked to school with everyday had a hard time saying good bye. The next time I can think of going back, is three years. God willing I'll be able to go. They kept saying how lucky they were to meet me, to have them help out at their school. But actually, it was I who was lucky. They have taught me to look down and see what I have, not up and see what I don't have. I'm thankful for having shoes to walk in, sidewalks that aren't of dusty mud, to have clean water coming right from the refrigerator. I see there's more to life that what material things I want, and I understand there's just a deeper purpose to everything. I'm thankful for my family, no matter what emotions I used to feel as an angsty teen. Not that I'm not one anymore.
I don't know who has been reading or not. But if you guys ahve any idea how I can start fundraising for my school, please let me know. I don't want these kids to have to pay for primary school, espcially since they don't even have their own books and stuff. I want to help the head teacher/ the school board buy the plot of land so that even if they ask for a small charge, they can build a school kitchen, fix the floors, get better desks, and actually pay the teachers.
Thank you for all your support everyone. It means so much to me. I'm so glad to be back safe at home.
Kwaheri Kenya, Asante sana.
Becky
My trip to Kenya wasn't easy, but loved it none the less. There were days that I wish I had never thought of coming to Africa, but I can't even find the words to begin explaining how I feel. Travel is never really comfortable, but it's definitely life changeing. Now I have to come to my past reality: the Chicago suburban life. And in three days time, SI 2009 at IMSA.
I just am lost on what to start with. Being back is like, well, it reminds me of the House episode I watched the night before traveling home. This girl had cancer that ranged from her heart all the way to her lungs, and also her brain. House used a crazy method to cure her: "rebooting" her nine year old body by freezing her a brief amount of time. It's like I was in hibernation. Everybody knew I was alive, but just not available. My life was put on hold.
I come back to such a well off home. We have a steady source of electricity, clean bathrooms, decent beds. I don't have to worry about getting run over by a bus, walking in sewage water, nor get hassled for money. I went on a walk yesteray and was amazed to see the well kept sidewalks, the cleanly cut grass, the stop lights and people following traffic rules. What a different world.
I have fit back into my niche at home, waking up early to make a cake for my sister's birthday, waking up my brother by whispering into his ear, finding my mother praying on her knees at 5 AM, creating a trail of mess wherever I go around. I've changed, but I haven't changed.
Thankfully, the trip back home wasn't as hard as the way there. British airways is simply an amazing airline, complete with comfortable seats, a good selection of movies, and fantastic food. I always ended up with an aisle seat, so problems with claustraphobia were not a worry. My flights where also 5 hours apart, which gave me time to walk around and check into customs without the brimming urge to shove people out of my way.
To the last moment of my trip, I made memorable experiences. Both people I sat next to on the trip were amazing to meet. The first trip from Kenya, I sat next to a girl who is going to be a senior at Ball State University. She's a speech pathology major, who had just finished a semester abroad in England and then off to Kenya just a month after coming back home. We sat for hours talking about Kenya before we conked out. The plane left at about 11:40 PM, so it was bed time for us. She had stayed with a group from her University the entire time, so she didn't get to do some of the same things I did. I loved describing to her what a matatu ride was like, discussing Kenyan politics, and my hopes for the country. She shared stories of her previous travels to Europe and Japan.
For my second flight, I actually didn't talk to the person I sat next to until the last 2 hours of my trip. Somehow, we just started talking to each other, not knowing that we had been on the same flight black from Kenya. What a small world, that we'd get on teh same flight from Kenya, wait the same 5 hours for the next flight, and get on teh exact same plane for Chicago? It turns out that she's from Somalia, but had lived in Kenya for 10 years, Uganda for 3, and Minnesota for 4. She knew Swahili, English, Ugandan, Somalian, and German. What a selection of languages! And just as I was about to get off the plane, I talked to the parents of 3 girls all under the age of 6 who had lived in portugal, Malaysia, England, and Wisconsin. The girls knew Portugese, what they speak in Malaysia, and English. I couldn't help but be jealous.
Talking to these people makes me want to travel to Korea so badly. I'm pretty serious about going to Korea after graduating and spending a year there teaching English. I might do a program in Buenos Aires, Argentina for a TESOL certificate, an international certificate to teach English. I haven't even been to Seoul before!
It was exciting to show my family what I had gotten them, and I was pleased to see that each person absolutely loved what I got them. They are all practical things, like wooden cooking spoon for my mother, a scarf and giraffe doorstop for Irene, a rock for my brother's collection, coffee for dad. Then there are the general banana peel paintings for the living room, and a big Maasai blanket for the couch.
I keep thinking about my last day in Kenya. Saying goodbye to my kiddies was so painful, especially Standard 7. All the students, even the boys, came up to hug me. Samuel gave me a ring so that I can remember Kenya. Lucky, the boy I walked to school with everyday had a hard time saying good bye. The next time I can think of going back, is three years. God willing I'll be able to go. They kept saying how lucky they were to meet me, to have them help out at their school. But actually, it was I who was lucky. They have taught me to look down and see what I have, not up and see what I don't have. I'm thankful for having shoes to walk in, sidewalks that aren't of dusty mud, to have clean water coming right from the refrigerator. I see there's more to life that what material things I want, and I understand there's just a deeper purpose to everything. I'm thankful for my family, no matter what emotions I used to feel as an angsty teen. Not that I'm not one anymore.
I don't know who has been reading or not. But if you guys ahve any idea how I can start fundraising for my school, please let me know. I don't want these kids to have to pay for primary school, espcially since they don't even have their own books and stuff. I want to help the head teacher/ the school board buy the plot of land so that even if they ask for a small charge, they can build a school kitchen, fix the floors, get better desks, and actually pay the teachers.
Thank you for all your support everyone. It means so much to me. I'm so glad to be back safe at home.
Kwaheri Kenya, Asante sana.
Becky
My trip to Kenya wasn't easy, but loved it none the less. There were days that I wish I had never thought of coming to Africa, but I can't even find the words to begin explaining how I feel. Travel is never really comfortable, but it's definitely life changeing. Now I have to come to my past reality: the Chicago suburban life. And in three days time, SI 2009 at IMSA.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Bumpy Matatu Rides, Meeting New People, and Marriage Proposals
Wow. I'm leaving for home tonight.
As I was packing, my days in Kenya replayed in my mind. I remember rushing to get to my second flight, losing my luggage at the airport, going to the market the first time and bargaining, all my trips, my days at New Franeli. I know I have to come back in the future. There's so much I didn't get to see due to the lack of time. I want to climb Mt. Longonot, Mt. Kenya, and Mt. Kili. I want to visit the IDP refugee camp next to Naivasha, Lake Nakuru, see some waterfalls, go to the giraffe museum, go to Eldoret to the running camp. I want to go to Uganda and white water raft, I want to go to Rwanda and see the genocide museum. My roomie, Meghan, is traveling all of East Africa after volunteering and going to the Congo, Rwanda, Uganda, and Tanzania.
I friggin can't believe I spent 33 days in AFRICA. The way people make Africa sound sometimes, is like they are still an untouched community. In reality, they're not all loin-cloth-wearing-humans-climbing-banana-trees-complete-with-cone-shaped-heads-and-stretched-ears. Many places are decently westernized. Besides the Massai, Kenyans wear jeans and tshirts, they even wear the typical GAP or Old Navy sweater. I've even seen a little kid wear at University of Wisconsin Osh-Kosh sweater, probably donated and sold off the street. But yes, I've been in AFRICA. I remember I used to be so nervous about Nairobi and all the countries I previously mentioned, but my perspective has changed. There is always chance of political unrest in Africa, especially times around elections. We have to keep in mind though, that this is normal in most of the world. I have the luxury of not even feeling the effects of war even though my country has been in a major one for a good chunk of my life. I take for granted that my best friend's parents won't be ready to kill my parents because we are from a different tribe or what not. It's all a slew of damn luxuries I didn't realize that I had. I am not afraid of traveling these places at all any more. To be honest, I felt safer in Nairobi than inner city Chicago. You hear of muggings and such, but you hardly ever hear of people getting shot or even killed. It's a whole different ball game here. I have just learned to be smart. After being here for almost 5 weeks, I haven't gotten anything stolen or hurt. Praise God.
In one sense, I feel much more prepared working with people from the inner city. The urban feel is different, but still more prepatory than living in the a corn field located in Central Illinois. Or white washed North Shore. Even if I never end up working for inner inner city Chicago, I know I can make it in the city.
In any case, my last days in Kenya have been such a blur.
Yesterday, I went to Wema Clinic to make sure I'm completely free of malaria, went to town for lunch and last minute souvenir shopping, went to the Yaya center to look at a used book store, and picked up the new volunteer staying at Sharon's flat. It was quite a busy day, but I loved getting my last look around the city that I have grown to know and become comfortable in. My favorite part was meeting the new volunteer, which has become one of my favorite things to do here. I've become really close, really fast to most of the volunteers that I have met here. There's a certain type of people that will come to a far away continent like Africa, a kind that doesn't care if you don't shower twice a day, the kind that will fight for world peace and social welfare, the kind that has brimming aspirations and goals not for oneself but for others as well. The volunteers that I have met are all so different in personality, but together in passion. I have met the greatest people on this trip, some that are luckily not too far from wher my home is. And some live so far away, that it gives an excuse to go traveling there. I've become inspired to keep travling and seeing new things. I've had recurring dreams to go to South Korea either for study abroad or teach for one year after graduation. I want to walk the great wall of China, to see Maachu Pichu in Peru, to see Southeast Asia and the middle East. I want to see everything. There's always the problem of money, but it's something that I will always be saving for from now on.
I don't know, as I boarded a matatu yesterday, I couldn't stop thinking about how much I was going to miss these dangerous, crowded, and bumpy rides around Kenya. I will actually miss squishing 25-30 people in a 13 seater van, the blaring music, keeping a keen awareness to make sure no one is pickpocketing, bargaining with the driver about paying 10 shillings instead of 15. I will never forget the matatu ride from Naivasha when a tire busted, a door fell off, and the money collector insisted on giving me his address, his promise that he'd find me in China. And I'll miss walking down the street with Meghan and hearing little kids scream "wa-wa-ru!" instead of "How are you?", or getting a marriage proposal. I'll miss getting the MZUNGU price for souvenirs and having to wittling it down to 10 percent of what they originally wanted. All these things have annoyed me at one point or another, but I know I can laugh back at it now.
Everyday has been a stir of emotions, especially getting home on Saturay and watching "Sometimes In April" with Sharon an Meghan. My horrifying and hurtful experience with the "ching chang chongs" in Kisumu melted away when I saw the genocide unfold in Rwanda. All the politicians talked about was the meaning of genocide, when they could get the white people out of there. You see UN trucks grabbing white people out of the crowd and leave all Rwandans in the dust, later to lie in piles of dead bodies swimming in pools of blood. They leave behind men to be hacked up with machetes, woman to be raped, children to be slaughtered in front of their own mothers. I burn with passion and wonder what I can do to stop this from happening. Why else have we learned about the holocaust? Wasn't it the purpose of the holocaust units in social studies, to educate us about not letting this happen again? I know those politicians know about the holocaust. Why do we act like children who don't understand the concept of object permanence yet? Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there.
I pray that the rift between tribes lessen as well. You see Kikuyus talking bad about one tribe or Kalenjins putting down Luos, generalizing the different tribes with stark stereotypes. There's almost a deep hatred between certain groups. That's why in 2007, Sharon had to hide in the bushes for 3 weeks fearing for her life. No one could leave home, everybody praying that they weren't on a Kill List. That's why some of Melissa Bailey's friends from Kenya got killed, innocent victims caught up in ridiculous tribal hatred. I pray with all my might.
In exactly 12 hours from now, I will be on a plane ride back home. I cant' wait to see everybody, but I honestly don't know how I'm going to handle it. But I guess I have to come back to my own life right?
See you sometime soon, everybody!
Becky
As I was packing, my days in Kenya replayed in my mind. I remember rushing to get to my second flight, losing my luggage at the airport, going to the market the first time and bargaining, all my trips, my days at New Franeli. I know I have to come back in the future. There's so much I didn't get to see due to the lack of time. I want to climb Mt. Longonot, Mt. Kenya, and Mt. Kili. I want to visit the IDP refugee camp next to Naivasha, Lake Nakuru, see some waterfalls, go to the giraffe museum, go to Eldoret to the running camp. I want to go to Uganda and white water raft, I want to go to Rwanda and see the genocide museum. My roomie, Meghan, is traveling all of East Africa after volunteering and going to the Congo, Rwanda, Uganda, and Tanzania.
I friggin can't believe I spent 33 days in AFRICA. The way people make Africa sound sometimes, is like they are still an untouched community. In reality, they're not all loin-cloth-wearing-humans-climbing-banana-trees-complete-with-cone-shaped-heads-and-stretched-ears. Many places are decently westernized. Besides the Massai, Kenyans wear jeans and tshirts, they even wear the typical GAP or Old Navy sweater. I've even seen a little kid wear at University of Wisconsin Osh-Kosh sweater, probably donated and sold off the street. But yes, I've been in AFRICA. I remember I used to be so nervous about Nairobi and all the countries I previously mentioned, but my perspective has changed. There is always chance of political unrest in Africa, especially times around elections. We have to keep in mind though, that this is normal in most of the world. I have the luxury of not even feeling the effects of war even though my country has been in a major one for a good chunk of my life. I take for granted that my best friend's parents won't be ready to kill my parents because we are from a different tribe or what not. It's all a slew of damn luxuries I didn't realize that I had. I am not afraid of traveling these places at all any more. To be honest, I felt safer in Nairobi than inner city Chicago. You hear of muggings and such, but you hardly ever hear of people getting shot or even killed. It's a whole different ball game here. I have just learned to be smart. After being here for almost 5 weeks, I haven't gotten anything stolen or hurt. Praise God.
In one sense, I feel much more prepared working with people from the inner city. The urban feel is different, but still more prepatory than living in the a corn field located in Central Illinois. Or white washed North Shore. Even if I never end up working for inner inner city Chicago, I know I can make it in the city.
In any case, my last days in Kenya have been such a blur.
Yesterday, I went to Wema Clinic to make sure I'm completely free of malaria, went to town for lunch and last minute souvenir shopping, went to the Yaya center to look at a used book store, and picked up the new volunteer staying at Sharon's flat. It was quite a busy day, but I loved getting my last look around the city that I have grown to know and become comfortable in. My favorite part was meeting the new volunteer, which has become one of my favorite things to do here. I've become really close, really fast to most of the volunteers that I have met here. There's a certain type of people that will come to a far away continent like Africa, a kind that doesn't care if you don't shower twice a day, the kind that will fight for world peace and social welfare, the kind that has brimming aspirations and goals not for oneself but for others as well. The volunteers that I have met are all so different in personality, but together in passion. I have met the greatest people on this trip, some that are luckily not too far from wher my home is. And some live so far away, that it gives an excuse to go traveling there. I've become inspired to keep travling and seeing new things. I've had recurring dreams to go to South Korea either for study abroad or teach for one year after graduation. I want to walk the great wall of China, to see Maachu Pichu in Peru, to see Southeast Asia and the middle East. I want to see everything. There's always the problem of money, but it's something that I will always be saving for from now on.
I don't know, as I boarded a matatu yesterday, I couldn't stop thinking about how much I was going to miss these dangerous, crowded, and bumpy rides around Kenya. I will actually miss squishing 25-30 people in a 13 seater van, the blaring music, keeping a keen awareness to make sure no one is pickpocketing, bargaining with the driver about paying 10 shillings instead of 15. I will never forget the matatu ride from Naivasha when a tire busted, a door fell off, and the money collector insisted on giving me his address, his promise that he'd find me in China. And I'll miss walking down the street with Meghan and hearing little kids scream "wa-wa-ru!" instead of "How are you?", or getting a marriage proposal. I'll miss getting the MZUNGU price for souvenirs and having to wittling it down to 10 percent of what they originally wanted. All these things have annoyed me at one point or another, but I know I can laugh back at it now.
Everyday has been a stir of emotions, especially getting home on Saturay and watching "Sometimes In April" with Sharon an Meghan. My horrifying and hurtful experience with the "ching chang chongs" in Kisumu melted away when I saw the genocide unfold in Rwanda. All the politicians talked about was the meaning of genocide, when they could get the white people out of there. You see UN trucks grabbing white people out of the crowd and leave all Rwandans in the dust, later to lie in piles of dead bodies swimming in pools of blood. They leave behind men to be hacked up with machetes, woman to be raped, children to be slaughtered in front of their own mothers. I burn with passion and wonder what I can do to stop this from happening. Why else have we learned about the holocaust? Wasn't it the purpose of the holocaust units in social studies, to educate us about not letting this happen again? I know those politicians know about the holocaust. Why do we act like children who don't understand the concept of object permanence yet? Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there.
I pray that the rift between tribes lessen as well. You see Kikuyus talking bad about one tribe or Kalenjins putting down Luos, generalizing the different tribes with stark stereotypes. There's almost a deep hatred between certain groups. That's why in 2007, Sharon had to hide in the bushes for 3 weeks fearing for her life. No one could leave home, everybody praying that they weren't on a Kill List. That's why some of Melissa Bailey's friends from Kenya got killed, innocent victims caught up in ridiculous tribal hatred. I pray with all my might.
In exactly 12 hours from now, I will be on a plane ride back home. I cant' wait to see everybody, but I honestly don't know how I'm going to handle it. But I guess I have to come back to my own life right?
See you sometime soon, everybody!
Becky
Friday, June 12, 2009
Different Side of Kenya
For the past couple days, I've been able to experience the rural lifestyle of Kenya. Again, thanks to connections with Sharon's family, I boarded a bus to Kericho, which is her home town. The ride was long, but not as long as the bus to Mombasa. After visiting the teacher's college that Patrick lectures at, I visited his home. It was really interesting to see Patrick's daughter's reaction when she saw me. It was Faith's first time seeing a mzungu, and initially, she backed away. Eventually she settled in my lap, and was ok with me. Patrick then took me to a more rural town, where I have been staying with a Pastor's family.
Pastor Kuley and his wife runs two schools, where a little more than half the students board. To help provide food and also jobs, the family also runs a small scale farm. The first day with the family I visited the classrooms, and saw how the school is run. The second day, I visited the farm.
When I was younger and described my idea of heaven, I imagined rolling mountains, and endless amounts of greenery. There would be lush trees, clean air, and clear blue skies. Well, where I have been staying is the place. Every morning I've woken up to birds singing, the sun shining bright in my face. The pollution and exhaust from vehicles that exist in Nairobi are no longer in the rural areas. The only hard part has been the squatter toilets, but I have mastered the art of using them! Honestly, this new skill has not been learned by choice, but rather I had to. I knew that I couldn't just not use the bathroom for 3-4 days, so the next morning I tiptoed to the toilet door. I opened it and stared for a few minutes. Then I decided that I had to learn how to get over my qualms and now I am ok with these.
Every morning I've been greeted by such cheerful faces, full of love and stories. I've told them about my home, and he has exchanged other stories in return. I really like it here. I've learned to make Ugali, chapatti, and how they cook kale--a vegetable that my mom and I have wondered how to get rid of the bitter taste. It has lots of calcium. Yesterday, I hoed out weeds among the nepia grass(cow feed) and even milked a cow! Not that I was good at it, but I tried!
Today I took an hour matatu ride to Kisumu and got to see Lake Victoria. I got really sick of getting hassled, and I've just begun ignoring glue-smelling boys asking for money. I think after this visit to the internet cafe, I'm going to the museum here. Along with matatus and busses, they have touk-touks, which are motorcycles transformed to funciton as cars. It's quite a sight, two wheels in back, one in the front, a rattley cage to sit in. I just might try riding in one to get to the museum.
Tomorrow, I leave for Eldoret. This is something I'm really looking forward to, because it is where all the Olympic Kenyan runners train. I don't know if I'll meet any runners or not, but just getting to do so will be amazing. And how do I get to go to Eldoret? BEcause Sharon's other sister lives there! I'm so excited.
Well I'm off now. Mercy, Pastor Sammy's daughter, and I have spent enough time on the computer. I'll only be online a couple more times before I go home. Eldoret, here I come!
Becky
Pastor Kuley and his wife runs two schools, where a little more than half the students board. To help provide food and also jobs, the family also runs a small scale farm. The first day with the family I visited the classrooms, and saw how the school is run. The second day, I visited the farm.
When I was younger and described my idea of heaven, I imagined rolling mountains, and endless amounts of greenery. There would be lush trees, clean air, and clear blue skies. Well, where I have been staying is the place. Every morning I've woken up to birds singing, the sun shining bright in my face. The pollution and exhaust from vehicles that exist in Nairobi are no longer in the rural areas. The only hard part has been the squatter toilets, but I have mastered the art of using them! Honestly, this new skill has not been learned by choice, but rather I had to. I knew that I couldn't just not use the bathroom for 3-4 days, so the next morning I tiptoed to the toilet door. I opened it and stared for a few minutes. Then I decided that I had to learn how to get over my qualms and now I am ok with these.
Every morning I've been greeted by such cheerful faces, full of love and stories. I've told them about my home, and he has exchanged other stories in return. I really like it here. I've learned to make Ugali, chapatti, and how they cook kale--a vegetable that my mom and I have wondered how to get rid of the bitter taste. It has lots of calcium. Yesterday, I hoed out weeds among the nepia grass(cow feed) and even milked a cow! Not that I was good at it, but I tried!
Today I took an hour matatu ride to Kisumu and got to see Lake Victoria. I got really sick of getting hassled, and I've just begun ignoring glue-smelling boys asking for money. I think after this visit to the internet cafe, I'm going to the museum here. Along with matatus and busses, they have touk-touks, which are motorcycles transformed to funciton as cars. It's quite a sight, two wheels in back, one in the front, a rattley cage to sit in. I just might try riding in one to get to the museum.
Tomorrow, I leave for Eldoret. This is something I'm really looking forward to, because it is where all the Olympic Kenyan runners train. I don't know if I'll meet any runners or not, but just getting to do so will be amazing. And how do I get to go to Eldoret? BEcause Sharon's other sister lives there! I'm so excited.
Well I'm off now. Mercy, Pastor Sammy's daughter, and I have spent enough time on the computer. I'll only be online a couple more times before I go home. Eldoret, here I come!
Becky
Monday, June 8, 2009
Appearances
If you took a look at one of my students, could you tell that he comes from a broken family? Can you know just by looking at him that he has had too many painful experiences for what a 13 year old should be allowed to go through? Or can you just tell by looking at that girl, that she lived without both parents for several years and raised her two siblings on her own?
I was walking to school today, something that I've come to do alone. I don't need to walk with Lucky and Steven anymore, since everybody along the way recognizes me and I won't get lost. Right before I reached school, I walked into one of the boys from Standard 7. I always felt a special connection to this kid because his name is, Beck. Yeah, really close to mine.
"Hey Beck, where are you going?"
"Hi, I'm going home."
"Why? I've just gotten to school!"
"My mom died."
How do you freaking respond to that?
At first I thought he was joking because he's the type to kid me around. But one look at his pained eyes said enough. His mom was no longer. And he still had come to school to say hi to me. Sweet kid.
Later I found out that his mom had been sick for two years. I suppose you learn to live with it, to put it past the immediacy of your day. But I never would have guessed what was going on at home. It's just him and his 2 year old sister now. Luckily, his grandma will be there to help him out. I can't imagine the pain he's going through.
The whole incident got me thinking about the how I view myself in Kenya. When you spend even a short amount of time surrounded by a certain type of people, you almost expect to see that in the mirror. I'm so used to seeing dark skin, pearly white teeth, full lips, and the particular Kenyan nose, that I jump a little at my relfection in the mirror. I expect myself to look like them.
When you walk down the street, it's not like a movie, where you're the main character and you can see your life from all angles. No, you are the camera man. Even if you look differently or not, you will never see that until you look in the mirror.
When I was in preschool, I had a really hard time one afternoon. The kids kept making fun of me for being Chinese. They pulled their eyes back so that they couldn't even see out of them. They made noises that did not amount to any sort of familiar language. And I wasn't even Chinese. I got fed up with that treatment and I yelled at them because I couldn't understand why they were being so mean. Instead of seeing our different skin color, eye shape, and hair texture, I just saw that we all had skin, eyes, noes, hair, and all other normal parts of the body.
"We all look the same! Leave me alone!"
And instead of getting better, the taunting got worse.
"You don't look like us, ching chang chong!"
And so my mother found me crying in front of the mirror later that day. It was the first of many of my mother's "Korean pride pep talks", complete with the full history of the Korean War, and how we must stand tall as Korean Americans.
I have that memory replaying in my head as I walk down the streets and hear the same familiar chopped noises meant to be "my language". I keep my head strong as seemingly grown and mature men use their fingers to pull their eyes back as I pass their shop. All they see is that I'm Asian, do they bother to know if I really come from China or Japan or Korea? Do they ever wonder more than if I'm a bag of money or a prostitute? That I am full of experiences that they will never understand? No, and it's the same in reverse. I will never know their full life story, not by just looking at them. It's just that we all think we can do that.
I wonder what I'll start thinking of myself when I plop myself back into white suburbia. It's going to quite an interesting adjustment.
Anyways, I had a fun time with Standard 8 today. We went over problems and I realized that they really need to work on their basic prealgebra skills. They have no concept of working with integers! They kept saying that negative 7 minus six was negative 1. I still have yet to understand the Kenyan academic curriculum. It still boggles me.
You all should be waking up in a few hours, Good morning!
Becky
I was walking to school today, something that I've come to do alone. I don't need to walk with Lucky and Steven anymore, since everybody along the way recognizes me and I won't get lost. Right before I reached school, I walked into one of the boys from Standard 7. I always felt a special connection to this kid because his name is, Beck. Yeah, really close to mine.
"Hey Beck, where are you going?"
"Hi, I'm going home."
"Why? I've just gotten to school!"
"My mom died."
How do you freaking respond to that?
At first I thought he was joking because he's the type to kid me around. But one look at his pained eyes said enough. His mom was no longer. And he still had come to school to say hi to me. Sweet kid.
Later I found out that his mom had been sick for two years. I suppose you learn to live with it, to put it past the immediacy of your day. But I never would have guessed what was going on at home. It's just him and his 2 year old sister now. Luckily, his grandma will be there to help him out. I can't imagine the pain he's going through.
The whole incident got me thinking about the how I view myself in Kenya. When you spend even a short amount of time surrounded by a certain type of people, you almost expect to see that in the mirror. I'm so used to seeing dark skin, pearly white teeth, full lips, and the particular Kenyan nose, that I jump a little at my relfection in the mirror. I expect myself to look like them.
When you walk down the street, it's not like a movie, where you're the main character and you can see your life from all angles. No, you are the camera man. Even if you look differently or not, you will never see that until you look in the mirror.
When I was in preschool, I had a really hard time one afternoon. The kids kept making fun of me for being Chinese. They pulled their eyes back so that they couldn't even see out of them. They made noises that did not amount to any sort of familiar language. And I wasn't even Chinese. I got fed up with that treatment and I yelled at them because I couldn't understand why they were being so mean. Instead of seeing our different skin color, eye shape, and hair texture, I just saw that we all had skin, eyes, noes, hair, and all other normal parts of the body.
"We all look the same! Leave me alone!"
And instead of getting better, the taunting got worse.
"You don't look like us, ching chang chong!"
And so my mother found me crying in front of the mirror later that day. It was the first of many of my mother's "Korean pride pep talks", complete with the full history of the Korean War, and how we must stand tall as Korean Americans.
I have that memory replaying in my head as I walk down the streets and hear the same familiar chopped noises meant to be "my language". I keep my head strong as seemingly grown and mature men use their fingers to pull their eyes back as I pass their shop. All they see is that I'm Asian, do they bother to know if I really come from China or Japan or Korea? Do they ever wonder more than if I'm a bag of money or a prostitute? That I am full of experiences that they will never understand? No, and it's the same in reverse. I will never know their full life story, not by just looking at them. It's just that we all think we can do that.
I wonder what I'll start thinking of myself when I plop myself back into white suburbia. It's going to quite an interesting adjustment.
Anyways, I had a fun time with Standard 8 today. We went over problems and I realized that they really need to work on their basic prealgebra skills. They have no concept of working with integers! They kept saying that negative 7 minus six was negative 1. I still have yet to understand the Kenyan academic curriculum. It still boggles me.
You all should be waking up in a few hours, Good morning!
Becky
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Be careful for what you ask for
So I asked my kids to write me a composition. I told them to write about 1)their names 2) their goals and dreams 3)their families. Little did I know that I would get stories about their literal dreams, different levels of English writing, and extremely small handwriting. I was going on and on about how great it is to be an English teacher (not that it isn't!) because you get personal work from you students. The only drawback is that everything is so personalized. I got a preview of my teacher life spending all Saturday afternoon grading these. Nontheless, it was really fun.
Considering that I'll be teaching official science lessons in just a couple weeks in Aurora, IL, this is kind of like a test run. I have already done plenty of things in my classrooms here that will never fly. Like coming to school in t-shirt and shorts, like not coming to school because I'm sick with an unspreadable illness, like not following through with some rules.
I've come upon my last 10 days in Kenya. The whole experience has been surreal. When I go back, it'll still be a while before I beleive I was in Africa for almost 5 weeks. Crazy! The hardest part right now is finding people to hang out with. All the people I met earlier have gone back home. They were the people who had been here for at least 3 months or so, the "Lifers" as they were called. I can get around my immediate surroundings fine, but it's still scary for me to go into town alone. Part of me just wants to hang out with Sharon and forget about meeting new people. But part of me wonders what the weekend would have been like if I had gone to Uganda. Oh well.
Yesterday Sharon and I just hung out, and I got to wake up really late this morning. For a whole semester, I lived in a dark nearly windowless basement. I slept in almost every weekend morning during that time, and never once did I feel refreshed from sleeping in. But this morning, before I woke up, I saw beams of sunlight hitting my face. It just felt so right. I am so thankful that I am living on the fourth floor right now. Well time to go now.
Becky
Considering that I'll be teaching official science lessons in just a couple weeks in Aurora, IL, this is kind of like a test run. I have already done plenty of things in my classrooms here that will never fly. Like coming to school in t-shirt and shorts, like not coming to school because I'm sick with an unspreadable illness, like not following through with some rules.
I've come upon my last 10 days in Kenya. The whole experience has been surreal. When I go back, it'll still be a while before I beleive I was in Africa for almost 5 weeks. Crazy! The hardest part right now is finding people to hang out with. All the people I met earlier have gone back home. They were the people who had been here for at least 3 months or so, the "Lifers" as they were called. I can get around my immediate surroundings fine, but it's still scary for me to go into town alone. Part of me just wants to hang out with Sharon and forget about meeting new people. But part of me wonders what the weekend would have been like if I had gone to Uganda. Oh well.
Yesterday Sharon and I just hung out, and I got to wake up really late this morning. For a whole semester, I lived in a dark nearly windowless basement. I slept in almost every weekend morning during that time, and never once did I feel refreshed from sleeping in. But this morning, before I woke up, I saw beams of sunlight hitting my face. It just felt so right. I am so thankful that I am living on the fourth floor right now. Well time to go now.
Becky
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