Kenya
Sitting on the floor of the schoolhouse, I couldn't help but wonder how I had gotten to where I was. The heat was sweltering as one would expect, the dust was all around and the breeze, which brought a nice reprieve from the warmth, carried the dirt around the air. The room was filled with parents of students whom the Harambee Foundation sponsored. They all wore long sleeves and jackets as if it was cold, which is something that no matter how long I spent there I would never understand. That was okay though, I knew I wouldn’t understand everything. The meeting was held in preparation of a weekend full of interviews, celebration, and fellowship with the families and students in the Harambee Foundation. As we sat there in the meeting, I felt the first emotion I had felt the whole trip. For the first couple days I had felt very numb to everything I had seen. When we first began driving through Eldoret and I stared out the window at the depth of poverty, I had no emotion towards it. I was impressed with myself. I’ve prepared so well, that I have no culture shock! I thought. What I didn’t realize then was that was culture shock. For the next couple days I tried to shake it, but it wasn’t until this meeting that I really did. A parent stood to speak. He calmly took the hat from his head and held it in his hands. He was soft spoken, but confident of what he was about to say. He shared with us his heart of gratitude that his son could have the chance to go to secondary school. High school in Kenya is expensive for many and is similar to college in the U.S. Students who do not go do not have the same opportunity as those who do. The man said that his son was so grateful for his education and that “one day, he will go to them in America to say thank you.” That was the first time I really felt something within me. It's one thing to support an organization, but its another to see exactly where that money goes. These were real people, with real stories, and students with real hopes, dreams, and desires. One girl would even go so far to tell two of our team members on the trip that if it wasn’t for the Harambee Foundation, she would be wandering the streets of Eldoret.
Over the next couple of days, we got to know the students better and spent time getting acquainted with their parents or guardians. It was shocking at times to hear the board of the Harambee Foundation talk to the students. Education is no joke in Kenya. Here in the U.S., if you fail, no one bats an eye. In Kenya, if you fail, you are essentially cast out. At one point, one of the board members said, “If you succeed, we will celebrate with you; if you fail, we will laugh at you.” I think all of us gasped a little at the harshness. Do not take this wrong, however. People in Kenya are possibly the most loving individuals I have ever encountered. From the minute we arrived in Kenya we were told over and over again, “Feel at home.” They had a knack for just that.
But how did I get here? Flying. Lots and lots of flying. It is interesting to note though that we almost didn’t make it on multiple occasions right from the beginning. In Tampa on the first flight of the journey, our tickets were messed up so that one of my teammates didn’t have a seat and Lauren and myself only were going to Istanbul. In Canada, our layover was so short we literally had to run through the airport to make the flight. We made it though, just in the nick of time. When we landed in Istanbul we forgot about all the problems we had as we walked the streets of the city. We had a long layover and Lauren had a friend there who said she would take us around. We rode the metro and the “Marmaray” into the city. There, we got a nice view of the waterway, ate traditional Turkish food, saw the Haggia Sophia, and had the chance to walk inside the Blue Mosque. It was such a great experience, we almost forgot about all the near misses we had flying there. We were quickly reminded though, when three of us were denied boarding the plane because our boarding passes weren’t tickets (whatever that means).They even went so far as to take out passports from us. Somehow though, we were able to get on and got our passports back.
It was late when we landed in Kenya and the airport had shut down. They physically locked us inside the airport until it opened again around 4am Kenya time. When we were released, we were driven to the domestic departures where we still had quite a bit of time to wait. One airport guard took us to the front patio of a coffee shop and told us we could rest while we waited for it to open. So that is exactly what we did. After the coffee shop opened, we enjoyed some coffee and a small meal before heading into the airport again to hop on a plane to Eldoret. From Eldoret, we were taken by a matatu to the village of Kaptagat where we were warmly greeted by Emily and Francis who both oversaw the orphanage. Emily hugged us all tightly while simultaneously chanting loudly. She was so enthusiastic as she said, “Welcome to Kenya!” and “Feel at home!” I regret being so tired because I feel I could have given her a more enthusiastic “thank you” than I did.
On our second day there, we had the chance to celebrate Kenyan independence day. Unlike in the US, Kenyans do something productive and helpful on their independence day, known as Madaraka Day. There, to celebrate their independence, everyone in the community comes together to complete a service project of some kind. They do this to prove that they can take care of themselves and actually be independent. Makes you wonder about the way we celebrate our independence in the US...In any case, the community of Kaptagat came together to build a bridge. We played a minimal role in the bridge building, but they were grateful nonetheless.
At the orphanage, we spent time with the kids. We played lots of “football” (soccer), failed often at communication, learned a lot, read together, sang together and overall, just bonded together. When you are at the orphanage, it is as if you are a part of one big family. Though most of our time was spent without any real plan at the orphanage, they sometimes took us out. One time, they took us on a hike to a waterfall nearby. It was incredible really. Some of the kids jumped into the water while others of us watched from a ledge above them. On other occasions, we went to visit the young children from the “baby school” that the orphanage shared a property with. The little ones loved to grab our skin and pinch it. At one point when I was playing with the kids, they began to smack my hand as hard as they could. They didn’t speak any English, so I couldn’t just tell them to stop. Instead, I tried shaking my head and saying “ouch!” every time they smacked my hand, assuming they could figure out what I meant. Instead though, they just continued to smack my hand while chanting “ouch!” loudly. I didn’t get them to stop, but it did make me laugh. On another occasion the students were all just staring at us, waiting for us to do something funny. So naturally, I started dancing and they followed. We got a kick out of that. Despite the fact I had sore hands from their repeated and aggressive high fives, I really did enjoy spending time with them. They taught us some of their dances and songs and we pathetically tried to follow. The best day we spent with the kids was the day we got to bring them the stuffed animals the donors from back in the U.S. had sent. It was so gratifying to be able to watch these kids light up as they accepted one of the toys.
Besides spending time with the children, some of my favorite times were when the sun began to set. The air would cool down, the colors in the sky would become warmer, and the haze from the fires would settle on the horizon. For many on the trip, it was a prime time to journal. As the dark would fall the Milky Way would appear. It was incredible to be able to see so many stars at once without all the city light hindering my view.
When we ate together we had a time to talk about what the day would hold, or talk about what the day had held. It was a great time to catch up and process much of what we were experiencing. We would sit around three tables pushed together, enjoying authentic Kenyan chapatti, rice, potatoes, and of course the famous Kenyan Chai all with the smell of the fire wafting slowly through the air and American music on the radio. The kids would be quietly laughing and playing in the background. There was something about those moments that made me, and I am sure the others, feel at home.
Of course, seeing as we were all runners, we also enjoyed running together. As we would run along the bumpy, red dirt roads, the distant calls of “Muzungu! How are you?” were a familiar sound. We would smile and say “Good! How are you?” Their training in our language had only taught them to respond with “fine!” They would rush at us with hands open trying to shake them. Sometimes, the children would even run with us for miles. They are all wonderful runners there; fast enough to make us feel inadequate.
The last day with the students, the village hosted a race. The ratio of adults to students must have been 1 to 9. Everywhere you looked, you saw young children. They loved to be near the muzungus. Our hands were never free because the children were holding them tightly always. In an attempt to give our introverted selves a break, Evan Verbal and myself went to sit in the shade. However, when we did two elderly women who wanted us to dance with them soon approached us. They spoke to us in Swahili, which we obviously did not understand. One man nearby told us that they were blessing us, but when he left, we had no idea how to understand what they were saying. Soon David, one of the team members and a native to the village we were in, approached us asking if we had been speaking with the women the whole time. We quickly shook our heads and he laughed. “I was going to be so impressed with you both!” he said. Later that day when the racing had finished, the awards ceremony began. One of Kenya’s biggest pop stars took center stage. Before he did, he and his backup dancers had taken many photos with us. While they sang, they eventually made us go up and dance. I am sure I looked ridiculous, but there was no time to think about that, let alone care. The people there seemed to like it, so that was all that mattered. At the end of the awards ceremony, we were called again, but instead of making us dance, they danced for us and wrapped blankets around us. It was a thank you for all that we had done. At this point I was feeling pretty guilty. I often did on the trip. I felt I had done so little, but they viewed me like I had given so much.
Once the ceremony ended we headed back to the orphanage to eat a late lunch. From there, Brooke, Lauren, David and I walked to the home of Abraham, the sponsor child of Andrew (my boyfriend) and myself. To say that I was shocked was an understatement. They literally lived in a clay hut, smaller than my bedroom in my apartment. Abraham and his mom invited us to sit and talk. David helped me communicate better, and we discussed Abraham, his school, his options, what life in Kenya is like, and what life in the United States was like. In the end, I prayed for them and with them and left them with my word that one day I would try and return. I felt slightly pained as I spoke the words though, because I know deep down that maybe I won’t.
On the last day of the trip for Brooke, Lauren and myself, we woke up well before the sun to make the drive to Iten, the running capital of the world. We went to the famous Kamariny Track where distance running in Kenya is said to have been born. While many of our team members jumped right into the workout, Kelli, Devyn, Alyssa, Molly, and I all went chasing the sunrise. We made our way to a ledge that overlooked the Great Rift Valley. I can honestly say that I don’t think I have seen anything as beautiful as that. The sun was slowly creeping its red rays over the lush green fields below, and through the middle of all of it crept the Nile. I was nearly brought to tears. Eventually we did run though and then headed to the airport, where another two days of traveling would bring us back to the U.S. It almost felt like we would never get home. We arrived majorly sleep deprived and delusional (or I was at least).
Of course, none of this would have been possible without all the support I received, not only monetarily, but also by way of prayers and encouragement. I was truly humbled by the generosity of those around me. People were more than willing to act outside themselves to provide for this trip. It is something that I will not soon forget.
Overall, despite the many months of worry and anxiety about leaving the country to embark on this adventure, I will forever be thankful for Evan Verbal stopping me in the hallway, encouraging me to go; my professor telling me “you won’t look back and remember the summer you stayed home, but you’ll remember the summer you went to Kenya," and of course Andrew for always urging me to step outside my comfort zone. They all were right. I really won't forget Kenya, the people, the kids, the sunrises and sunsets, the stars, the singing and the laughing and so much more. I find that I am often reminded of Kenya when I go about my day. Small things remind me of my time there. Sometimes it feels like it was all not real, like I just dreamed it. That is mostly due to my shock that I, of all people, would step so far outside my comfort zone. I couldn’t be happier that I did though. I often think to myself that I wish I could have left those who I met with one simple message:
I did not know you, but I traveled thousands of miles to see you and it was worth every mile, every minute, every sleepless night to be with you.
Over the next couple of days, we got to know the students better and spent time getting acquainted with their parents or guardians. It was shocking at times to hear the board of the Harambee Foundation talk to the students. Education is no joke in Kenya. Here in the U.S., if you fail, no one bats an eye. In Kenya, if you fail, you are essentially cast out. At one point, one of the board members said, “If you succeed, we will celebrate with you; if you fail, we will laugh at you.” I think all of us gasped a little at the harshness. Do not take this wrong, however. People in Kenya are possibly the most loving individuals I have ever encountered. From the minute we arrived in Kenya we were told over and over again, “Feel at home.” They had a knack for just that.
But how did I get here? Flying. Lots and lots of flying. It is interesting to note though that we almost didn’t make it on multiple occasions right from the beginning. In Tampa on the first flight of the journey, our tickets were messed up so that one of my teammates didn’t have a seat and Lauren and myself only were going to Istanbul. In Canada, our layover was so short we literally had to run through the airport to make the flight. We made it though, just in the nick of time. When we landed in Istanbul we forgot about all the problems we had as we walked the streets of the city. We had a long layover and Lauren had a friend there who said she would take us around. We rode the metro and the “Marmaray” into the city. There, we got a nice view of the waterway, ate traditional Turkish food, saw the Haggia Sophia, and had the chance to walk inside the Blue Mosque. It was such a great experience, we almost forgot about all the near misses we had flying there. We were quickly reminded though, when three of us were denied boarding the plane because our boarding passes weren’t tickets (whatever that means).They even went so far as to take out passports from us. Somehow though, we were able to get on and got our passports back.
It was late when we landed in Kenya and the airport had shut down. They physically locked us inside the airport until it opened again around 4am Kenya time. When we were released, we were driven to the domestic departures where we still had quite a bit of time to wait. One airport guard took us to the front patio of a coffee shop and told us we could rest while we waited for it to open. So that is exactly what we did. After the coffee shop opened, we enjoyed some coffee and a small meal before heading into the airport again to hop on a plane to Eldoret. From Eldoret, we were taken by a matatu to the village of Kaptagat where we were warmly greeted by Emily and Francis who both oversaw the orphanage. Emily hugged us all tightly while simultaneously chanting loudly. She was so enthusiastic as she said, “Welcome to Kenya!” and “Feel at home!” I regret being so tired because I feel I could have given her a more enthusiastic “thank you” than I did.
On our second day there, we had the chance to celebrate Kenyan independence day. Unlike in the US, Kenyans do something productive and helpful on their independence day, known as Madaraka Day. There, to celebrate their independence, everyone in the community comes together to complete a service project of some kind. They do this to prove that they can take care of themselves and actually be independent. Makes you wonder about the way we celebrate our independence in the US...In any case, the community of Kaptagat came together to build a bridge. We played a minimal role in the bridge building, but they were grateful nonetheless.
At the orphanage, we spent time with the kids. We played lots of “football” (soccer), failed often at communication, learned a lot, read together, sang together and overall, just bonded together. When you are at the orphanage, it is as if you are a part of one big family. Though most of our time was spent without any real plan at the orphanage, they sometimes took us out. One time, they took us on a hike to a waterfall nearby. It was incredible really. Some of the kids jumped into the water while others of us watched from a ledge above them. On other occasions, we went to visit the young children from the “baby school” that the orphanage shared a property with. The little ones loved to grab our skin and pinch it. At one point when I was playing with the kids, they began to smack my hand as hard as they could. They didn’t speak any English, so I couldn’t just tell them to stop. Instead, I tried shaking my head and saying “ouch!” every time they smacked my hand, assuming they could figure out what I meant. Instead though, they just continued to smack my hand while chanting “ouch!” loudly. I didn’t get them to stop, but it did make me laugh. On another occasion the students were all just staring at us, waiting for us to do something funny. So naturally, I started dancing and they followed. We got a kick out of that. Despite the fact I had sore hands from their repeated and aggressive high fives, I really did enjoy spending time with them. They taught us some of their dances and songs and we pathetically tried to follow. The best day we spent with the kids was the day we got to bring them the stuffed animals the donors from back in the U.S. had sent. It was so gratifying to be able to watch these kids light up as they accepted one of the toys.
Besides spending time with the children, some of my favorite times were when the sun began to set. The air would cool down, the colors in the sky would become warmer, and the haze from the fires would settle on the horizon. For many on the trip, it was a prime time to journal. As the dark would fall the Milky Way would appear. It was incredible to be able to see so many stars at once without all the city light hindering my view.
When we ate together we had a time to talk about what the day would hold, or talk about what the day had held. It was a great time to catch up and process much of what we were experiencing. We would sit around three tables pushed together, enjoying authentic Kenyan chapatti, rice, potatoes, and of course the famous Kenyan Chai all with the smell of the fire wafting slowly through the air and American music on the radio. The kids would be quietly laughing and playing in the background. There was something about those moments that made me, and I am sure the others, feel at home.
Of course, seeing as we were all runners, we also enjoyed running together. As we would run along the bumpy, red dirt roads, the distant calls of “Muzungu! How are you?” were a familiar sound. We would smile and say “Good! How are you?” Their training in our language had only taught them to respond with “fine!” They would rush at us with hands open trying to shake them. Sometimes, the children would even run with us for miles. They are all wonderful runners there; fast enough to make us feel inadequate.
The last day with the students, the village hosted a race. The ratio of adults to students must have been 1 to 9. Everywhere you looked, you saw young children. They loved to be near the muzungus. Our hands were never free because the children were holding them tightly always. In an attempt to give our introverted selves a break, Evan Verbal and myself went to sit in the shade. However, when we did two elderly women who wanted us to dance with them soon approached us. They spoke to us in Swahili, which we obviously did not understand. One man nearby told us that they were blessing us, but when he left, we had no idea how to understand what they were saying. Soon David, one of the team members and a native to the village we were in, approached us asking if we had been speaking with the women the whole time. We quickly shook our heads and he laughed. “I was going to be so impressed with you both!” he said. Later that day when the racing had finished, the awards ceremony began. One of Kenya’s biggest pop stars took center stage. Before he did, he and his backup dancers had taken many photos with us. While they sang, they eventually made us go up and dance. I am sure I looked ridiculous, but there was no time to think about that, let alone care. The people there seemed to like it, so that was all that mattered. At the end of the awards ceremony, we were called again, but instead of making us dance, they danced for us and wrapped blankets around us. It was a thank you for all that we had done. At this point I was feeling pretty guilty. I often did on the trip. I felt I had done so little, but they viewed me like I had given so much.
Once the ceremony ended we headed back to the orphanage to eat a late lunch. From there, Brooke, Lauren, David and I walked to the home of Abraham, the sponsor child of Andrew (my boyfriend) and myself. To say that I was shocked was an understatement. They literally lived in a clay hut, smaller than my bedroom in my apartment. Abraham and his mom invited us to sit and talk. David helped me communicate better, and we discussed Abraham, his school, his options, what life in Kenya is like, and what life in the United States was like. In the end, I prayed for them and with them and left them with my word that one day I would try and return. I felt slightly pained as I spoke the words though, because I know deep down that maybe I won’t.
On the last day of the trip for Brooke, Lauren and myself, we woke up well before the sun to make the drive to Iten, the running capital of the world. We went to the famous Kamariny Track where distance running in Kenya is said to have been born. While many of our team members jumped right into the workout, Kelli, Devyn, Alyssa, Molly, and I all went chasing the sunrise. We made our way to a ledge that overlooked the Great Rift Valley. I can honestly say that I don’t think I have seen anything as beautiful as that. The sun was slowly creeping its red rays over the lush green fields below, and through the middle of all of it crept the Nile. I was nearly brought to tears. Eventually we did run though and then headed to the airport, where another two days of traveling would bring us back to the U.S. It almost felt like we would never get home. We arrived majorly sleep deprived and delusional (or I was at least).
Of course, none of this would have been possible without all the support I received, not only monetarily, but also by way of prayers and encouragement. I was truly humbled by the generosity of those around me. People were more than willing to act outside themselves to provide for this trip. It is something that I will not soon forget.
Overall, despite the many months of worry and anxiety about leaving the country to embark on this adventure, I will forever be thankful for Evan Verbal stopping me in the hallway, encouraging me to go; my professor telling me “you won’t look back and remember the summer you stayed home, but you’ll remember the summer you went to Kenya," and of course Andrew for always urging me to step outside my comfort zone. They all were right. I really won't forget Kenya, the people, the kids, the sunrises and sunsets, the stars, the singing and the laughing and so much more. I find that I am often reminded of Kenya when I go about my day. Small things remind me of my time there. Sometimes it feels like it was all not real, like I just dreamed it. That is mostly due to my shock that I, of all people, would step so far outside my comfort zone. I couldn’t be happier that I did though. I often think to myself that I wish I could have left those who I met with one simple message:
I did not know you, but I traveled thousands of miles to see you and it was worth every mile, every minute, every sleepless night to be with you.
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Inside the Blue Mosque
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