Monday, July 23, 2012
Plans. What Plans?
I’m a firm believer in setting goals, because goals are the foundation of hope. Achieving goals takes effort, which usually requires some amount of planning. Otherwise, opportunities are missed. One thing I’ve done a lot of thinking about here is that idea of planning and hope.
People’s resilience manifests istelf in situations in which plans are dashed. Since I’ve been here, countless plans have been made, but few of those happenings have been realized. For example, when spending an afternoon with a friend in town, it began to rain too much and was getting late (as in 5 pm)—too late to travel since it would be a good time after dark, by the time I reached home. These two factors made travel dangerous, so we were forced to change other plans and stay in a motel and travel home in the morning. Another time, feeling unwell and on my way to a doctor to get medicine turned into a two-day trip to Nakuru—hence I did not teach lessons that day or the next. No water flowing from any hydrants or faucets means carrying water in buckets from elsewhere and doing less cleaning, so as to stretch the little water as far as possible. Also, plans have vanished as too much time elapses waiting for someone to arrive.
Most of the time I simply except the changes, but at times I get frustrated, wondering, “Why can’t things just work out the way they are supposed to? Can things not be done a little more efficiently?” Yet I remain amazed, “How can these people stay so happy and hopeful, when time and time again their expectations and hopes are crushed?” It doesn’t seem like it’s worth planning and looking forward to anything. And then I remember that hope is what dreams are made of, what drives us and makes the tough times easier.
I was visiting with a woman the other day, who was describing her timber home and says although it would be nice to have a more permanant solid structure, now is not the time to create one, because who knows what will happen in the future? Just as she says her home is not permanent, plans here definitely are not. But then, nothing really is permanent, is it?
People’s resilience manifests istelf in situations in which plans are dashed. Since I’ve been here, countless plans have been made, but few of those happenings have been realized. For example, when spending an afternoon with a friend in town, it began to rain too much and was getting late (as in 5 pm)—too late to travel since it would be a good time after dark, by the time I reached home. These two factors made travel dangerous, so we were forced to change other plans and stay in a motel and travel home in the morning. Another time, feeling unwell and on my way to a doctor to get medicine turned into a two-day trip to Nakuru—hence I did not teach lessons that day or the next. No water flowing from any hydrants or faucets means carrying water in buckets from elsewhere and doing less cleaning, so as to stretch the little water as far as possible. Also, plans have vanished as too much time elapses waiting for someone to arrive.
Most of the time I simply except the changes, but at times I get frustrated, wondering, “Why can’t things just work out the way they are supposed to? Can things not be done a little more efficiently?” Yet I remain amazed, “How can these people stay so happy and hopeful, when time and time again their expectations and hopes are crushed?” It doesn’t seem like it’s worth planning and looking forward to anything. And then I remember that hope is what dreams are made of, what drives us and makes the tough times easier.
I was visiting with a woman the other day, who was describing her timber home and says although it would be nice to have a more permanant solid structure, now is not the time to create one, because who knows what will happen in the future? Just as she says her home is not permanent, plans here definitely are not. But then, nothing really is permanent, is it?
The Deepest Color I’ve Ever Seen
You know that color you get when you mix all the colors together?
No, not brown.
I’m talking about a different color.
It’s the color
Of a beetle’s legs
Of a crow’s tongue
Of a man’s pupils
Of a southern German forest.
It’s black.
Yes, black, but nothing is blacker than an overcast Kenyan night.
No, not brown.
I’m talking about a different color.
It’s the color
Of a beetle’s legs
Of a crow’s tongue
Of a man’s pupils
Of a southern German forest.
It’s black.
Yes, black, but nothing is blacker than an overcast Kenyan night.
Kisumu
To me it felt just like Lambayeque, Peru, except that the prefered language by most people was Luo rather than Spanish. I’ve been to Kisumu two times now. The first was to visit a friend’s mother and the second was as a chaparone for a class 8 trip.
The weather was beautiful and warm and all over I saw people using motorbikes or matatus for transportation. We got to visit the airport, Lake Victoria, which in some places looks like a field because of the water hyacinths that are growing there and that they cannot seem to rid it from. We also visited a museum, the Radio Victoria station, and Impala Park. My favorite part was the Lake. I felt frustrated at the museum and park, because both places, as in Peru, I was charged abnormally high prices, because it was evident that I am not a Kenyan citizen.
The lake was beautiful and peaceful and I enjoyed watching the kid’s reactions, especially when some of them saw and airplane for the first time and how amazed and fascinated they were about everything. With their eyes wide and their mouths gaped they raced along the fence as if chasing after the plane as it took off. So much fun to see their enthusiasm.
Ships docked in Lake Victoria
The weather was beautiful and warm and all over I saw people using motorbikes or matatus for transportation. We got to visit the airport, Lake Victoria, which in some places looks like a field because of the water hyacinths that are growing there and that they cannot seem to rid it from. We also visited a museum, the Radio Victoria station, and Impala Park. My favorite part was the Lake. I felt frustrated at the museum and park, because both places, as in Peru, I was charged abnormally high prices, because it was evident that I am not a Kenyan citizen.
The lake was beautiful and peaceful and I enjoyed watching the kid’s reactions, especially when some of them saw and airplane for the first time and how amazed and fascinated they were about everything. With their eyes wide and their mouths gaped they raced along the fence as if chasing after the plane as it took off. So much fun to see their enthusiasm.
Ships docked in Lake Victoria
Funeral
The death of a woman in a nearby village was cause for me to attend a funeral a few weeks ago. A christian Kipsigis funeral is quite different from those with which I was familiar, although iit bares a few similarities. When there are school-aged children who were closely related to the individual (second-cousin or great-nephew count), then at least one teacher from the school must attend the funeral representing the school and showing support for the child. Thus, I attended along with one other teacher, since there were about 5 students related to the deceased. Also, a funeral cannot be held without at least one political figure—who then uses the opportunity to give a political speech to the family and friends gathered, in hopes of future reelection.
We arrived at mid-morning. People were sitting under makeshift tents, while hymns were playing and some young men were digging a hole for the casket. The funeral service began around noon and takes place throughout the afternoon, since in generations past, the Kipsigis believed that their god was behind the sun. The body must rest at least one night in the home and then be buried in the yard (also six feet down). I’ve been told twice since coming, once by a child and once by a teacher, that to bury a person in a cemetery and not in their yard, is disrespectful and like throwing them away. Then their spirit will haunt you.
Like a familiar service, it included hymns and a sermon.
Unlike familiar services, all of the family members were introduced and there were many speeches---lasting about 3 hours. At about four, it was time to remove the casket from the table that it had been placed on, and lower it into the ground. Each family member threw on some dirt and then the younger men shoveled on the rest. At this time we were all served tea and then the guests who had come continuously throughout the service, numbering a few hundred standing around the tents and some down the road and against fences, began to disperse. It began to rain as they were covering the casket and I was reminded of the familiar words to a song, There’s holes in the floor of heaven and her tears are comin’ down. They were coming down. While some cultural practices differ, some things will always be the same all over the world. Saying good-bye is always hard.
We arrived at mid-morning. People were sitting under makeshift tents, while hymns were playing and some young men were digging a hole for the casket. The funeral service began around noon and takes place throughout the afternoon, since in generations past, the Kipsigis believed that their god was behind the sun. The body must rest at least one night in the home and then be buried in the yard (also six feet down). I’ve been told twice since coming, once by a child and once by a teacher, that to bury a person in a cemetery and not in their yard, is disrespectful and like throwing them away. Then their spirit will haunt you.
Like a familiar service, it included hymns and a sermon.
Unlike familiar services, all of the family members were introduced and there were many speeches---lasting about 3 hours. At about four, it was time to remove the casket from the table that it had been placed on, and lower it into the ground. Each family member threw on some dirt and then the younger men shoveled on the rest. At this time we were all served tea and then the guests who had come continuously throughout the service, numbering a few hundred standing around the tents and some down the road and against fences, began to disperse. It began to rain as they were covering the casket and I was reminded of the familiar words to a song, There’s holes in the floor of heaven and her tears are comin’ down. They were coming down. While some cultural practices differ, some things will always be the same all over the world. Saying good-bye is always hard.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
1st Month in a few Snapshots
Some of the kids from the village
Cows are important
Some of my Kenyan sisters
Working on the shamba
Some younger students
Some of the clothes hanging outside the classrooms
More of my Kenyan sisters
The dishes lined up and ready to wash ... & of course the chickens are always disturbing them
Some of the beans from the shamba
School
Most of the classrooms have twelve wooden desks, simple frames with a bench connected to what appears to be an elevated bench, a single board upon which the students place their books.
Each desk is shared by three or four children who come to know one another well—sharing a book, a writing utensil, sharpening one another’s pencils with a razor blade, leaning against one another occasionally or taking turns wearing a sweater when the cold rains come.
When the rain begins to beat down on the roof’s tin sheets, students politely request to leave the classroom and upon receiving permission dart out the doorway, racing across the school compound to the fence where they’ve hung their clean clothes to dry or to the place where they laid their mattresses and sheets to air out. These rainy moments full of energy remind me of the quote, “Don’t wait for the storm to pass. Learn to dance in the rain.” These children do that everyday.
The classroom desks and walls bear marks and scratches of letters and numbers as students work out their thoughts on them, to avoid wasting their precious paper. A large rectangular patch on one or two walls in each classroom is painted black, serving as a blackboard, illuminated by the natural light flowing through the open windows. Looking out them one can see the vivid greens of banana trees, avocado trees, pumpkins and grass, as well as some huts, blue polo shirts, red sweaters, green shorts, grey socks and green plaid dresses draped over the fences. And back into the room drift the sounds of chittering birds, the voices of other teachers and students and the cool, gentle breeze.
Classes begin at 8:15 am and go until 5 pm Monday-Friday. On Saturdays, lessons end at lunchtime. Each day there is a break for tea or porriage in the morning, a lunch break, and a tea break in the afternoon. In the evenings, boarding students attend lessons for a couple more hours.
The ages of students and amounts of time in school in Kenya is very similar to those things in the United States. Below is listed the Kenyan classess corresponding to their American equivelants.
*Baby class (preschool)
*Nursery class (Kindergarten)
*Standards 1-8 (Grades 1-8) (primary school = elementary/grade school)
*Forms 1-4 (high school years)
*University (typically 4 years)
Both primary school and secondary school are divided into three terms each, with the academic year beginning in January. Students have a few weeks of break during the months of April, August, and December. At the end of Standard 8 and of Form 4, students tak a national exam, competing against other students for positions in secondary schools, colleges, and universities. Standard 8 students are tested in five areas each worth 100 points. If a student attains a composite schore of 380 or above (which is difficult to do) in those areas (English, math, Kiswahili, science, and social studies/religion), he or she may be able to attend a national highschool.
In order to become a primary school teacher, a person must obtain a P1 education degree from a 2-year college. Secondary school teachers attend a university for four years, studying education and emphasizing two content areas. Unlike the United States in which graduation usually follows within about a week of final exams, the graduation dates are not set and it may be more than six months after a person has completed his or her collegiate studies before their exams are graded and the graduation ceremony takes place. It may be yet another six months or more before their certificates of completion are issued. Thus, teachers may teach for some time before officially graduating from a university. I’m thankful I was able to go to a four-year institution, graduate and get my diploma shortly after finishing.
This week we did the second of three examination periods for this term. Students were divided up and seated at desks with students from other classes (ie. a standard 8 student, with one from standard 4 and another from standard 6 at a desk together) so as to reduce the temptation to share answers. The three days consisted only of exams and reminded me of finals, but these are for young children—something I’m glad I never had to do. Students may be tested over material they’ve recently covered or that they learned a few years back.
The exams at the end of each term are the same taken by all students in a district and the schools compete against one another. Kimori Academy has a strong academic record, having sent 11 students to national schools last year. I enjoy most of my colleages and the majority of them are serious about teaching, unlike many teachers at the public schools who fail to show up for lessons that they are supposed to teach.
Like the unfamiliar examination process, I’ve needed to adjust to several things. For one, the grading/scoring works differently here, with 70% being a good grade and 50% being average. I still need to work on how I give out the scores, as mine are still inflated compared to those of the other teachers. Also, I had not fully recognized how much I used technology and electricity back at home or school. Teaching here has forced me to realize that they should not be taken for granted. I do not have the internet to use as a resource to look something up, nor can I use it to show an image or video. I do not have access to a library or even an overhead projector. During my planning time, I create an answer key for the exercises in the books. Correcting this weeks exams was a long and tedious process, because we had to create a grading scale to give the proper points to each portion of the exam (doing a lot of math with pen and paper), marked them all, then recorded the scores on paper, totaled them, and rewrote the list in order from highest to lowest scored with the students’ information. We place a piece of carbon paper between this one and the one below to create a duplicate for the school records. Computers and copy-machines save fare more time and energy than I’d ever given any thought to. Interestingly the students here take computer class, although they never see or use a computer, but rather learn the uses for them and terminology associated with them. Also students are caned with a stick for poor behavior or academic performance—a practice that makes me very uncomfortable, but is seen as apporpriate and acceptable by seemingly everyone in this culture. It occurs less at this school than at many, especially public institution throughout the country, I am told.
We began the normal lessons again and I went over the reasons why answers were/were not correct on the exam. And the school year goes on...
Each desk is shared by three or four children who come to know one another well—sharing a book, a writing utensil, sharpening one another’s pencils with a razor blade, leaning against one another occasionally or taking turns wearing a sweater when the cold rains come.
When the rain begins to beat down on the roof’s tin sheets, students politely request to leave the classroom and upon receiving permission dart out the doorway, racing across the school compound to the fence where they’ve hung their clean clothes to dry or to the place where they laid their mattresses and sheets to air out. These rainy moments full of energy remind me of the quote, “Don’t wait for the storm to pass. Learn to dance in the rain.” These children do that everyday.
The classroom desks and walls bear marks and scratches of letters and numbers as students work out their thoughts on them, to avoid wasting their precious paper. A large rectangular patch on one or two walls in each classroom is painted black, serving as a blackboard, illuminated by the natural light flowing through the open windows. Looking out them one can see the vivid greens of banana trees, avocado trees, pumpkins and grass, as well as some huts, blue polo shirts, red sweaters, green shorts, grey socks and green plaid dresses draped over the fences. And back into the room drift the sounds of chittering birds, the voices of other teachers and students and the cool, gentle breeze.
Classes begin at 8:15 am and go until 5 pm Monday-Friday. On Saturdays, lessons end at lunchtime. Each day there is a break for tea or porriage in the morning, a lunch break, and a tea break in the afternoon. In the evenings, boarding students attend lessons for a couple more hours.
The ages of students and amounts of time in school in Kenya is very similar to those things in the United States. Below is listed the Kenyan classess corresponding to their American equivelants.
*Baby class (preschool)
*Nursery class (Kindergarten)
*Standards 1-8 (Grades 1-8) (primary school = elementary/grade school)
*Forms 1-4 (high school years)
*University (typically 4 years)
Both primary school and secondary school are divided into three terms each, with the academic year beginning in January. Students have a few weeks of break during the months of April, August, and December. At the end of Standard 8 and of Form 4, students tak a national exam, competing against other students for positions in secondary schools, colleges, and universities. Standard 8 students are tested in five areas each worth 100 points. If a student attains a composite schore of 380 or above (which is difficult to do) in those areas (English, math, Kiswahili, science, and social studies/religion), he or she may be able to attend a national highschool.
In order to become a primary school teacher, a person must obtain a P1 education degree from a 2-year college. Secondary school teachers attend a university for four years, studying education and emphasizing two content areas. Unlike the United States in which graduation usually follows within about a week of final exams, the graduation dates are not set and it may be more than six months after a person has completed his or her collegiate studies before their exams are graded and the graduation ceremony takes place. It may be yet another six months or more before their certificates of completion are issued. Thus, teachers may teach for some time before officially graduating from a university. I’m thankful I was able to go to a four-year institution, graduate and get my diploma shortly after finishing.
This week we did the second of three examination periods for this term. Students were divided up and seated at desks with students from other classes (ie. a standard 8 student, with one from standard 4 and another from standard 6 at a desk together) so as to reduce the temptation to share answers. The three days consisted only of exams and reminded me of finals, but these are for young children—something I’m glad I never had to do. Students may be tested over material they’ve recently covered or that they learned a few years back.
The exams at the end of each term are the same taken by all students in a district and the schools compete against one another. Kimori Academy has a strong academic record, having sent 11 students to national schools last year. I enjoy most of my colleages and the majority of them are serious about teaching, unlike many teachers at the public schools who fail to show up for lessons that they are supposed to teach.
Like the unfamiliar examination process, I’ve needed to adjust to several things. For one, the grading/scoring works differently here, with 70% being a good grade and 50% being average. I still need to work on how I give out the scores, as mine are still inflated compared to those of the other teachers. Also, I had not fully recognized how much I used technology and electricity back at home or school. Teaching here has forced me to realize that they should not be taken for granted. I do not have the internet to use as a resource to look something up, nor can I use it to show an image or video. I do not have access to a library or even an overhead projector. During my planning time, I create an answer key for the exercises in the books. Correcting this weeks exams was a long and tedious process, because we had to create a grading scale to give the proper points to each portion of the exam (doing a lot of math with pen and paper), marked them all, then recorded the scores on paper, totaled them, and rewrote the list in order from highest to lowest scored with the students’ information. We place a piece of carbon paper between this one and the one below to create a duplicate for the school records. Computers and copy-machines save fare more time and energy than I’d ever given any thought to. Interestingly the students here take computer class, although they never see or use a computer, but rather learn the uses for them and terminology associated with them. Also students are caned with a stick for poor behavior or academic performance—a practice that makes me very uncomfortable, but is seen as apporpriate and acceptable by seemingly everyone in this culture. It occurs less at this school than at many, especially public institution throughout the country, I am told.
We began the normal lessons again and I went over the reasons why answers were/were not correct on the exam. And the school year goes on...
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