Whatever It Takes

Watching Kenyan Mamas touch too-hot-for-my-wimpy-hands pots and pans (there’s no handles out here, only rims to hold on), they merely grab the pot and move to another surface while I look at amazement. I would need to use a rag and fold it several times then it’ll finally get to the point where it’s not too hot for me to remove the pot from my stove. All the Kenyan Mamas always giggle when they watch me remove the pot.

“You need to work your hands harder!”

“Hahahahahahahah!”

“You have very soft hands, not Kenyan hands!”

“You are so funny!”

As I gingerly walk on the hot sand barefoot, hopping to and fro all the way, the kids standing on the hot sand right in the middle of several ants’ nest started laughing.

“What’s wrong with your feet?”

“Why are you jumping?”

“Do you want us to jump too?”

Watching the kids lean onto the barbed wire as they wait to be looked at by the infirmary (seriously, they would send the kids from the assembly to an area near a bush and tree area that is wrapped around in barbed wire, and they are really leaning right on the sharp bits), I gaped in amazement for a few minutes. After recovering, I started wondering what was the point of the barbed wire if it does not work on people? I asked another volunteer that exact question and he wondered the same thing, and over some palm wine, we agreed that it really was not worth all the mental energy spent thinking about it, and that some things are probably better left unexplained.

When I sat outside in the shade, doing nothing except fan myself, and sweating buckets, I was watching all the kids play a furious game of football (what people back in the States call soccer) at high noon when it was the hottest part of the day and the sun did the most damage. I did a double take and saw a few kids who were playing soccer wearing sweaters. Yep, you read that right - they were wearing school uniform wool sweaters on top of their school uniform.

I asked one of my Form One students standing next to me, “Why are those kids wearing their sweater at noon when everyone is sweating?”

“Oh, probably because their shirt is dirty.”

Eyebrows raised, I wordlessly asked for an explanation.

“Right, you know, school uniforms has to be completely clean or they get punished.”

When I looked at him in amazement, he started laughing.

In between all the laughter some of the kids started to ask me questions about my home.

“In America, is it hot like this?”

“In some parts, yes, but, right now, my mama and baba’s home is really cold. Remember I explained about ice? I showed you pictures of snow? That is what my parent’s home looks like.”

“No!”

“Really?”

“Do you mean [from an older student] [numbers converted to 70-75 degrees Fahrenheit]?”

“Oh, no, we wear what you are wearing right now in that temperature, it gets much, much, much colder!”

Nothing but horrified looks of silence from the children for a few seconds as a small smile grows on my face.

“Impossible!”

“Do you mzungus have special powers?”

“We wear coats and hats in [70-75 degrees F]!”

“[70-75 degrees F] is wicked cold!”

“Witchcraft!”

Of course, this led into sort of a scientific discussion on how our bodies become used to the areas in where we grew up, and as we finished it up, the children continued playing happily a version of monkey-in-the-middle on hot sand in the middle of several huge ant nests barefoot, and me clad in my trusty flip-flops, walked home happily thinking about what I plan to cook for dinner, perfectly content to use a thick rag as a pot holder.