Entering the hostel that a good number of Peace Corps Volunteers have been using for the past few years (if not longer), I checked in, went out back to the tent that I was sharing with a few other PCVs, and dumped my stuff with a huge sigh of relief. I had been traveling for eight hours from Mumias, and I was ready for a beer and a chat with a few of my fellow PCVs.
I was going through a whirlwind of emotions – excitement about seeing the other PCVs, wondering about the classes and what we would learn in IST, worrying about not receiving word about the new niece that was overdue, trying to process the experiences I had throughout the Games, and just basically trying to stop my head from spinning.
After celebrating with the eleven / twelve odd PCVs, we all headed to Kopling Center the next day, excited to see everyone else, to settle in our rooms, hoping that we would get hot showers. I was especially excited to be able to unpack my bag and stay in one bed for ten days, rather than living out of my backpack and take a few hot showers.
Standing under the showerhead for my first hot shower in five months, I thought about how being Deaf has brought me to that point – being in the Deaf Ed program in Peace Corps, having the friends I have, the smallness of the Deaf community – I stayed with a Deaf teacher at Mumias because she was a friend of a friend of mine, and staying over was only awkward at the first introduction, and after that it was smooth sailing. We had that common bond.
I was reminded by an experience I had when I visited a dear friend in Bristol in the UK when he was studying there – we were out at a pub with a couple of his friends having some beer and chips, and then because I was jet lagged (I had landed that very day), we decided to turn in early. As we walked to the house that we were visiting in London, we realized that we didn’t know anyone living there – the friend who we came with was still at the pub – the man who opened the door was not someone we recognized, but as we started signing and explaining why we were at his doorstep, he simply said, “Deaf? Come on in.” We grinned at each other and went in.
As I became extremely philosophical in the shower, I was very inconsiderate of my roommate, because the hot water ran out and brought me back to reality, and therefore, IST.
IST was great – I had a great time listening to Matt’s stories about rabid dogs and his students (but not together, thank goodness), talking about our frustrations, the cultural adjustment, the amazement that we all had with the fact that we were not the same people that we met or were when we were in Philadelphia.
The older PCVs who came out to help with IST was probably the best part of the IST – their wealth of experience, the sessions that they led were very helpful, and helped us get a grip on what we were going to do, and think about what we could do, what projects we were going to do.
At IST, we also found inspiration. We talked about how to make training better for next year’s group of Deaf Ed Volunteers, projects that we would be working on this year – a couple of summer camps for some of our students, revising the Deaf Education manual, reorganizing the Deaf Ed resources, creating new resources for HIV / AIDS education for the Deaf, and rebuilding relationships with a variety of community organizations that works with the Deaf in Kenya.
When the election violence occurred in 2008, Peace Corps evacuated all of their volunteers from the country, and a lot of resources were lost, relationships severed, and this year the task of rebuilding the relationships with the country is on us – it is one that we eagerly look forward to, as it provided us an opportunity to update those relationships, talk about new projects, and basically shake up the Deaf Education project.
We were sad to leave each other at IST, but we were excited about eventually going back to our sites (as many of us had a few vacation plans), and implementing some of the ideas we came up with at IST.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
Deaf Games: Kilifi, Mombasa, and Mumias / Kakamega
After the departure of the last of the folks from the Coast Deaf Ed (plus two) trip yesterday, I tackled a bit more of the mountain of my laundry (I am happy to say that it is now down to a manageable level, rather than the get-eaten-alive-by-the-mountain level), watched a couple of movies and read a bit, I am finally sitting down on the computer with a couple of cups of coffee to finally start writing. I did not realize how much I missed writing – usually I will write in my journal or for the blog a few times a week, but over the past few weeks, I did not have any time or chance to do either, so you could say I am definitely catching up for lost time.
So, let’s start at the beginning, when the whirlwind all started – right here at Kibarani! Sarah came out here for a week during the last week of March with her students – we were to “compete” and practice together to develop a team representing Kilifi District. Now, Sarah’s unit is relatively new (started in 2006), so some of the teachers here at Kibarani was still a little resistant to the idea of including her kids, so that was a challenge right off the bat, and I should have seen that as a sign of things to come, but, naturally, hindsight is 20/20. Regardless of the issues between her unit and Kibarani, it was grand having Sarah here, meeting her awesome kids, and cooking up a storm.
As the pieces fell in place, the 80 kids were picked to represent Kilifi District, and the 10 teachers were picked to accompany (including Sarah and me), we were headed to Mombasa, at Ziwani School for the Deaf (Paul’s site) where we would meet upwards of 500 children from various districts throughout the Coast to compete and create a team representing the Coast. After panicking slightly about packing for a month and tying up all the loose ends here before I headed off, I buckled down and packed, cleaned up the place, and was ready the next day.
We piled up a meter or two of mattresses on the top of the bus, crammed the children and teachers in the bus, and drove the hour and a half down to Mombasa. Communicating via the secret language of the high beam flashers known only to the drivers of Kenya, our school driver got us all there in one piece.
Upon arrival, I was not only excited about the Games, but also to see the other Peace Corps Volunteers and trade stories. We got into Ziwani, after a couple of hours trying to figure out where the kids are sleeping, where the teachers are sleeping, and where the PCVs are going to sleep, we finally got everything settled up. Paul’s tiny one-bedroom place has been assigned as the PCV headquarters, and originally seven of us (but later we found out one could not make it), was expected to sleep crammed in there.
Hey, we told ourselves, we’re PCVs! It’s all good! This began to become our mantra for the next few days (and my mantra for the next few weeks).
The first night, we found out that there was a major miscommunication (to put it nicely) between two of the PCVs that worked with Malindi District and one of the teachers about the dates of departure (Sunday versus Monday), so that was frustrating for us. The communication difficulties did not end there. We worked hard, spending time with the kids, trying to figure out how it all worked, how to make sure all the kids are where they should be, and constantly talking with the other teachers. Marveling at how smoothly and effortlessly the older PCVs interacted with their children, I had to keep reminding myself that they all had been here for one year longer than I had, and I would get to that point sometime in the future.
Regardless of the smoothness of the interaction with the kids was, all of us PCVs, including the older ones, had a struggle with the clear communication with the people who were running the competition. Cultural differences definitely plays a huge part in the whole thing, as it seemed to bother us PCVs much more than it bothered the other Kenyan teachers / Deaf Kenyan staff.
In addition to the communication issues, there was a huge problem at Ziwani, in where Paul has labeled, “The Water Problem,” and it is exactly what it is – there was not enough water for the people staying at Ziwani. As Paul mentioned, there was not enough water to begin with for the 150 students and the teachers of Ziwani, not to mention the additional 400 children and 80 teachers, so needless to say this created a very interesting situation on its own, but when you throw in equatorial heat and track and field at high noon, it created an even more interesting situation.
Making sure that the kids of Kilifi had enough water and glucose to prevent dizziness was a task upon itself, working with the kids on dealing with the choo issues (not enough water plus 500 kids plus too few choos creates a huge mess), trying to deal with Paul’s choo (which was invaded and clogged), it was definitely an obstacle course that we had to run.
Regardless of the communication issues, “The Water Problem” and a major case of sleep deprivation, I had a great time meeting the kids of the other schools, chatting with my kids, watching the games, the performances and dances, celebrating Megan’s birthday with a cake that Sarah and I baked on my stove, eating a few meals out in Mombasa, and just basically celebrating the fact that I have survived my first three months at the site (which, supposedly are the hardest three months next to training).
Kilifi District did well in many areas, and we sent off quite a few kids to represent the Coast Province, and I was proud of the kids representing Kilifi. After the trophy ceremony (which we waited five hours for – in training they told us to make sure we had two pocketfuls of patience – I think this piece of advice paid off that day), the kids and teachers going to Mumias / Kakamega was chosen, and then the rest of the children and teachers started making preparations to head back to their schools, and then home.
I was planning on going to Mumias on my own if not chosen to head there with the Coast folks, and after buying tickets to head over there, I received word that there was an problem with a friend, and the trip was delayed for a couple of days. After hanging out and trying to figure out things, I finally got a ticket heading to Nairobi, sleeping over, and then continuing another eight hours to Mumias.
As I reached Kakamega, the bus broke down, and they put us all on a matatu continuing to Mumias – I arrived at St. Angela’s School out in Mumias, and met with the teacher who I was to stay with. West Kenya was outrageously gorgeous – the weather was cool and perfect, a contrast to the hot and humid Coast.
St. Angela’s did not have “The Water Problem” as it rained (or as Paul aptly puts it, free water falling from the sky!) everyday we were there, and the kids of the Coast Province happily reported that the choos worked just fine. All of the events were held at the academy in the Mumias Sugar Factory compound (that was the huge sugar company of Kenya, where practically everyone buys sugar from, so that was kind of cool to see where it was all produced), a few kilometers from St. Angela’s.
I arrived in Mumias the night before the day of the cultural performances, and saw the Coast perform superbly regardless of the insanely long day, talked with a few Deaf teachers, and just basically took in the whole scene. The communication problems continue to rear its ugly head, and after talking with a couple of the other teachers, they told me that it was the norm for these events, and it just is what it is.
In addition to checking out another part of the country, I got to meet another PCV that I have been corresponding with for approximately two years (we were put in touch by a mutual friend, and a number of factors prevented us from meeting face to face over the two years), and it was nice to finally meet him in person.
Watching another lengthy trophy celebration, cheering when the Coast won the cultural events day, talking with some of the students who complained about the lengthy bus ride back home, I realized that almost three weeks has passed since the Games technically began in Kilifi, and two weeks since the beginning of the Mombasa competition.
At that point, I also realized that the next day I was to be headed to Nairobi to meet up with a few of the fellow PCVs for a celebration and then a good majority of the PCVs in PC-Kenya at our ten-day inter-service training, and as a result of that, I would be jumping into a completely different world.
So, let’s start at the beginning, when the whirlwind all started – right here at Kibarani! Sarah came out here for a week during the last week of March with her students – we were to “compete” and practice together to develop a team representing Kilifi District. Now, Sarah’s unit is relatively new (started in 2006), so some of the teachers here at Kibarani was still a little resistant to the idea of including her kids, so that was a challenge right off the bat, and I should have seen that as a sign of things to come, but, naturally, hindsight is 20/20. Regardless of the issues between her unit and Kibarani, it was grand having Sarah here, meeting her awesome kids, and cooking up a storm.
As the pieces fell in place, the 80 kids were picked to represent Kilifi District, and the 10 teachers were picked to accompany (including Sarah and me), we were headed to Mombasa, at Ziwani School for the Deaf (Paul’s site) where we would meet upwards of 500 children from various districts throughout the Coast to compete and create a team representing the Coast. After panicking slightly about packing for a month and tying up all the loose ends here before I headed off, I buckled down and packed, cleaned up the place, and was ready the next day.
We piled up a meter or two of mattresses on the top of the bus, crammed the children and teachers in the bus, and drove the hour and a half down to Mombasa. Communicating via the secret language of the high beam flashers known only to the drivers of Kenya, our school driver got us all there in one piece.
Upon arrival, I was not only excited about the Games, but also to see the other Peace Corps Volunteers and trade stories. We got into Ziwani, after a couple of hours trying to figure out where the kids are sleeping, where the teachers are sleeping, and where the PCVs are going to sleep, we finally got everything settled up. Paul’s tiny one-bedroom place has been assigned as the PCV headquarters, and originally seven of us (but later we found out one could not make it), was expected to sleep crammed in there.
Hey, we told ourselves, we’re PCVs! It’s all good! This began to become our mantra for the next few days (and my mantra for the next few weeks).
The first night, we found out that there was a major miscommunication (to put it nicely) between two of the PCVs that worked with Malindi District and one of the teachers about the dates of departure (Sunday versus Monday), so that was frustrating for us. The communication difficulties did not end there. We worked hard, spending time with the kids, trying to figure out how it all worked, how to make sure all the kids are where they should be, and constantly talking with the other teachers. Marveling at how smoothly and effortlessly the older PCVs interacted with their children, I had to keep reminding myself that they all had been here for one year longer than I had, and I would get to that point sometime in the future.
Regardless of the smoothness of the interaction with the kids was, all of us PCVs, including the older ones, had a struggle with the clear communication with the people who were running the competition. Cultural differences definitely plays a huge part in the whole thing, as it seemed to bother us PCVs much more than it bothered the other Kenyan teachers / Deaf Kenyan staff.
In addition to the communication issues, there was a huge problem at Ziwani, in where Paul has labeled, “The Water Problem,” and it is exactly what it is – there was not enough water for the people staying at Ziwani. As Paul mentioned, there was not enough water to begin with for the 150 students and the teachers of Ziwani, not to mention the additional 400 children and 80 teachers, so needless to say this created a very interesting situation on its own, but when you throw in equatorial heat and track and field at high noon, it created an even more interesting situation.
Making sure that the kids of Kilifi had enough water and glucose to prevent dizziness was a task upon itself, working with the kids on dealing with the choo issues (not enough water plus 500 kids plus too few choos creates a huge mess), trying to deal with Paul’s choo (which was invaded and clogged), it was definitely an obstacle course that we had to run.
Regardless of the communication issues, “The Water Problem” and a major case of sleep deprivation, I had a great time meeting the kids of the other schools, chatting with my kids, watching the games, the performances and dances, celebrating Megan’s birthday with a cake that Sarah and I baked on my stove, eating a few meals out in Mombasa, and just basically celebrating the fact that I have survived my first three months at the site (which, supposedly are the hardest three months next to training).
Kilifi District did well in many areas, and we sent off quite a few kids to represent the Coast Province, and I was proud of the kids representing Kilifi. After the trophy ceremony (which we waited five hours for – in training they told us to make sure we had two pocketfuls of patience – I think this piece of advice paid off that day), the kids and teachers going to Mumias / Kakamega was chosen, and then the rest of the children and teachers started making preparations to head back to their schools, and then home.
I was planning on going to Mumias on my own if not chosen to head there with the Coast folks, and after buying tickets to head over there, I received word that there was an problem with a friend, and the trip was delayed for a couple of days. After hanging out and trying to figure out things, I finally got a ticket heading to Nairobi, sleeping over, and then continuing another eight hours to Mumias.
As I reached Kakamega, the bus broke down, and they put us all on a matatu continuing to Mumias – I arrived at St. Angela’s School out in Mumias, and met with the teacher who I was to stay with. West Kenya was outrageously gorgeous – the weather was cool and perfect, a contrast to the hot and humid Coast.
St. Angela’s did not have “The Water Problem” as it rained (or as Paul aptly puts it, free water falling from the sky!) everyday we were there, and the kids of the Coast Province happily reported that the choos worked just fine. All of the events were held at the academy in the Mumias Sugar Factory compound (that was the huge sugar company of Kenya, where practically everyone buys sugar from, so that was kind of cool to see where it was all produced), a few kilometers from St. Angela’s.
I arrived in Mumias the night before the day of the cultural performances, and saw the Coast perform superbly regardless of the insanely long day, talked with a few Deaf teachers, and just basically took in the whole scene. The communication problems continue to rear its ugly head, and after talking with a couple of the other teachers, they told me that it was the norm for these events, and it just is what it is.
In addition to checking out another part of the country, I got to meet another PCV that I have been corresponding with for approximately two years (we were put in touch by a mutual friend, and a number of factors prevented us from meeting face to face over the two years), and it was nice to finally meet him in person.
Watching another lengthy trophy celebration, cheering when the Coast won the cultural events day, talking with some of the students who complained about the lengthy bus ride back home, I realized that almost three weeks has passed since the Games technically began in Kilifi, and two weeks since the beginning of the Mombasa competition.
At that point, I also realized that the next day I was to be headed to Nairobi to meet up with a few of the fellow PCVs for a celebration and then a good majority of the PCVs in PC-Kenya at our ten-day inter-service training, and as a result of that, I would be jumping into a completely different world.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Olivia Lee Lewis!!!!
I have tons to say about the past four weeks – so much happened that I have to write about – the Deaf Games in Mombasa and Mumias / Kakamega, training in Nairobi, and now, the trip out to the Coast, but I wanted to post so that people know I’m still alive (somewhat), and announce a very important thing -
On 14 April 2009, Olivia Lee Lewis joined our families, all 7 pounds 9 ounces and 20 inches of her, after quite a few days of us waiting (and for me, obsessively checking my email like five or six times a day on my phone), and everything looks good – I just wanted to write this letter to Olivia, and also to congratulate my brother and sister-in-law on the new addition! Love you guys, N, M and now O!
Dear Olivia,
You have no idea on how many people are beyond thrilled to invite you into this world – I, for one, among many others are unbelievably excited. Let me show you some pictures and explain who these people are …
First, these two people might look familiar ... they're your parents! I am sure they’re really excited about welcoming you, even if you made your mama’s blood pressure skyrocket several times!
Olivia, let me tell you a little about these two outrageously awesome people. You could not ask for two better people to come together and parent you – but, yes, they can be complete dorks. No worries - you have a cool aunt to run to when they get in that mode!
Now, these two women getting along fabulously are your grandmas! Not only are you lucky to get two really cool grandmas, you'll get a lot of laughter from these two!
What?! More grandmas?!?! Yep! These two cool crazy ladies live just down the street and will be as close as grandmas as they can be without being related to you.
Now, let's talk about your grandpa and great-godfather from our side of the family ... now, our dad, your grandpa, regardless of how cool he is, how great he is, the fact that he'll teach you all sorts of things, he's a little of a nerdball - make sure to ask him for the sign for nerd-o-saurs! As for the godfather, all you need to know is that he is the master of making dinner reservations - you'll eat well with him around!
Now, this thoughtful and sweet man who married your other grandma will for sure be as good as my dad in his duties as a grandparent ...
You're probably thinking, dude, when am I gonna run out of grandparents?! Now, this is my grandma ... yeah I know, it's surprising that she's even old enough to be merely a grandma, but a great-grandma?! Whoa!
Olivia, not only are you lucky enough to have so many awesome people that are thrilled about your arrival, you have also quite a few critters welcoming you - here they are ...
Okay, now you've met the family - let's have a couple of photos of me so you'll somewhat recognize me when I come back to the States for a visit ... here's one of me in the front of the Peace Corps Kenya office when we were in Nairobi last week for training.
And here's one of me with about half of the PCVs of Peace Corps-Kenya ... we were at an elephant and rhino orphanage petting some adorable baby elphants and one black rhino ... I'm in the center with the royal blue tee-shirt - these folks are some of the coolest folks I've worked with.
Well, Olivia, I hope you enjoyed this - I look forward to heading back to the States at some point over the next couple of years to meet you!
Now, let's try to get your daddy to post some photos of you on his facebook account!
Love you tons!
Aunt Charlotte
Saturday, April 4, 2009
"Dude, we're in Africa!"
These three fellows were part of the herd that blocked the NBI - MSA highway when we were traveling to Mombasa for the first week of training. Ignore the date on it - it's incorrect.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Sneak Preview of Photos!
While I'm still figuring out how to resize some photos, upload some of 'em, setting up blog entries so the photos appear somewhat in order, I thought that I'd treat y'all with a couple of photos of a beach in Kilifi where I have swam in a few times - enjoy!
The term ended last week, and while you'd think that with a month's time without classes I'd have time to rest up, it hasn't really happened ... this week was crazy with the Deaf Games in Mombasa, where all the Coast kids come together to compete, this weekend I'm off to Kakamega to check out the National Deaf Games, and then I'm probably headed to Nairobi for the IST - an 10 day training thing with the Peace Corps, so it's a bit crazy, but I've been enjoying it so far! Wish me luck with posting some more pictures!
Monday, March 9, 2009
Collectiveness vs Individualism
[Before I jump into this entry, I just wanted to say that I got the USB drive, woo hoo, and I tried to upload some photos on the office computer, but technical difficulties is holding me back. Hopefully by next week I will have enough patience to upload some photos without wanting to throw the monitor through the window …]
As I mentioned several times already here on this little website thingy, one of my biggest adjustment I need to make and am in the process of making with my move to Kenya is adjusting to the collective mentality of Kenyans. They value time with your family and friends highly – time alone is unheard of, and privacy is such a luxury it is now at the point where privacy is considered unhealthy and unnatural. All the teachers who live on the compound have a family with several children, and their families live in the same size space I live, a two-bedroom apartment and it is considered a good sized house for them.
My neighbors – the teachers and their families – have a difficult time with the fact that I need alone time every now and then. That is the tough thing about living on the school compound – the loss of privacy. Everyone basically knows where you are and what you are up to, seriously – if I need to find another teacher who lives on the compound, all I need to do is to ask one of the kids, and they’ll be like, oh he’s at the office, he’s out in town, or he’s walking out back to the local shop.
When I lock my house for a few hours to get myself lost in one of the high brow literature that mama and baba sent me (I think they’re enjoying the fact that I have no choice over my books and they’re taking advantage by sending the recommendations that they made that were ignored by me …), the teachers and their families ask me if everything is all right, if I’m sick, that it’s really not healthy for me to hang out at home for few hours, and that I need to have my Peace Corps Volunteer friends visiting me. After several weekends of not subtly observing me, they’re now used to the idea that I am actually fine with spending a few hours by myself doing a variety of things, and that I DO have friends who I go and visit and who come and visit.
This aspect of Kenyan culture influences every part of Kenyan life – I definitely can see some of the influence in the classroom. The students greet the teachers who enter the room by all signing together at the same time “Hallo, Good Morning (or whatever time it is) Teacher” and they understand how to work together, much better than I ever did when I was a grammar school or secondary school student myself.
The issue rears its ugly head when I start asking critical thinking skills questions and talk about looking at a sentence as a whole, rather than reciting words one by one as an entire group – the way they grew up learning how to read. The students are slightly taken aback with my style of teaching, especially asking conceptual questions on how stories work, getting out meaning from the sentences, figuring out who pronouns represent, and the are slowly getting used to the back and forth, using a different part of their brains, rather than just copying down exercises and regurgitating it back to me / the other teachers.
I realized that I could use the individualism aspect in my background, from my upbringing in the States, and incorporate it into my teaching, just to add a new perspective in the teaching process. In no way will I transform the Kenyan education system, but it makes me happy to think about students thinking about the stories they are reading and actually understanding what the story is all about rather than just reading it word by word, not understanding the point or moral of the story.
I also believe the collectiveness of the Kenyan society has a huge influence on the test-taking ability of the students. They are trained to respond as a group, in a group, their ability to answer or focus on individual assignments or on their own test paper is just a completely different experience, one that they have very little practice or experience in, and because of this, I think that their test results are greatly affected. Paul wrote a bit about the KCPE test, the test that is required for students to enter secondary school, and after asking and talking with some of the other teachers, I find that I still have a lot to learn about what the KCPE measure, how the test-taking skills of the students affects the result, and how much of a factor Deafness / language skills is in the whole she-bang.
Well, I guess it’s a good thing that I will be around for 22 more months, yes?
As I mentioned several times already here on this little website thingy, one of my biggest adjustment I need to make and am in the process of making with my move to Kenya is adjusting to the collective mentality of Kenyans. They value time with your family and friends highly – time alone is unheard of, and privacy is such a luxury it is now at the point where privacy is considered unhealthy and unnatural. All the teachers who live on the compound have a family with several children, and their families live in the same size space I live, a two-bedroom apartment and it is considered a good sized house for them.
My neighbors – the teachers and their families – have a difficult time with the fact that I need alone time every now and then. That is the tough thing about living on the school compound – the loss of privacy. Everyone basically knows where you are and what you are up to, seriously – if I need to find another teacher who lives on the compound, all I need to do is to ask one of the kids, and they’ll be like, oh he’s at the office, he’s out in town, or he’s walking out back to the local shop.
When I lock my house for a few hours to get myself lost in one of the high brow literature that mama and baba sent me (I think they’re enjoying the fact that I have no choice over my books and they’re taking advantage by sending the recommendations that they made that were ignored by me …), the teachers and their families ask me if everything is all right, if I’m sick, that it’s really not healthy for me to hang out at home for few hours, and that I need to have my Peace Corps Volunteer friends visiting me. After several weekends of not subtly observing me, they’re now used to the idea that I am actually fine with spending a few hours by myself doing a variety of things, and that I DO have friends who I go and visit and who come and visit.
This aspect of Kenyan culture influences every part of Kenyan life – I definitely can see some of the influence in the classroom. The students greet the teachers who enter the room by all signing together at the same time “Hallo, Good Morning (or whatever time it is) Teacher” and they understand how to work together, much better than I ever did when I was a grammar school or secondary school student myself.
The issue rears its ugly head when I start asking critical thinking skills questions and talk about looking at a sentence as a whole, rather than reciting words one by one as an entire group – the way they grew up learning how to read. The students are slightly taken aback with my style of teaching, especially asking conceptual questions on how stories work, getting out meaning from the sentences, figuring out who pronouns represent, and the are slowly getting used to the back and forth, using a different part of their brains, rather than just copying down exercises and regurgitating it back to me / the other teachers.
I realized that I could use the individualism aspect in my background, from my upbringing in the States, and incorporate it into my teaching, just to add a new perspective in the teaching process. In no way will I transform the Kenyan education system, but it makes me happy to think about students thinking about the stories they are reading and actually understanding what the story is all about rather than just reading it word by word, not understanding the point or moral of the story.
I also believe the collectiveness of the Kenyan society has a huge influence on the test-taking ability of the students. They are trained to respond as a group, in a group, their ability to answer or focus on individual assignments or on their own test paper is just a completely different experience, one that they have very little practice or experience in, and because of this, I think that their test results are greatly affected. Paul wrote a bit about the KCPE test, the test that is required for students to enter secondary school, and after asking and talking with some of the other teachers, I find that I still have a lot to learn about what the KCPE measure, how the test-taking skills of the students affects the result, and how much of a factor Deafness / language skills is in the whole she-bang.
Well, I guess it’s a good thing that I will be around for 22 more months, yes?
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
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.
“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.
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