Friday, June11th 5AM-Monday June 14th 9PM

Mombasa Kenya.

 

I was not expecting this. I was not expecting to be up at 5 in the morning, in the dark, listening to the call to prayer on the coast of the Indian Ocean in Mombasa, Kenya. I was not expecting my first blog post to be 1 week into the trip (report cards are done now). I was not expecting to have taken almost no pictures.

 

I have fallen into an entirely different rhythm here. I wake at 4AM. For the first few days I fought this, trying (for some reason I now can't remember) to retain my hold on a Canadian schedule. Now, I join the staff and students at AKAM for their 5:45AM run through the city surrounding the palatial grounds of this IB world school. The city comes alive at 5:15 as the ferry arrives at the southeast end of 'the island of war'. Honking horns and shouting foot passengers compete with herons nosily jostling for space in the treetops.

 

It is cool in the mornings. The breeze coming off the water clears the air of mosquitoes, but you can always tell by the smell in the air that it has just rained, or the sky is about to open up again and soak you. I think my laptop is getting nervous. 

 

In 4 hours, after a breakfast of beans, toast, eggs, and some sort of delicious doughnut that people keep calling by different names, we will once again arrive at Kipevu Primary School.

 

Hemed Idi picks us up at 8:30 each morning. I doubt I will ever meet a warmer, more dedicated, or more intelligent man. He reminds me of my best friends and family, (I wish you all could be here).

 

On the first day we arrived at the school, the streets of a slum that epitomized grinding, oppressive poverty were lined with, quite literally, 1000 children shouting and waving hello and welcome. A large banner reading "Welcome Stratford Hall to Kipevu Primary School" still hangs today on the concrete gate posts that mark the beginnings of what will eventually be a perimeter wall. These children radiated sunlight. They are poor, no doubt, and you can see the scars of abuse on many of their faces and tiny bodies, though some are not so tiny—many grade 8 students at this school are 17 years old. Despite being surrounded by cesspools and garbage they wear their uniforms smartly and their faces are clean and open. Every one of them is eager to show you a secret handshake.

 

            Travel around the school, for me, is a combination of 200 hellos, how-are-yous and quick thumb-wars, an only slightly nervous head count as I find my paired students moving the crowds having the time of their lives, and a discreet but generous dollop of hand-sanitizer for our happy student team.  Each Stratford Hall student now has the distinctly recognizable look of the deeply energized and exhausted student-teacher.

 

            The school itself.... it could be worse. The classrooms are concrete and corrugated iron affairs (asbestos included) with tiny desks and and sometimes 100 students. The walls all have faded but still colorful posters of mathematical principles, grammar rules, maps, and charts listing how many boys, girls, Christians and Muslims are in the room.

 

            The teachers are tireless. Many have been there for 20 years. They know and love their students, have laughed and cried with them, come from the same harsh beginnings, and leave each day to the same open cooking fires or to 'the projects'.

 

Our time has been busy here. Day one was diplomatic. Hemed Idi is fighting against those looking to take credit for a wall that has been built by Stratford Hall bake-sales, parent donations, student dances and sleep-overs. A public display is not so much for us, but also for them. It is hope and change. We visited the office of the Minister of Education for Mombasa, the Mayor's office where we received the keys to the city and, finally, Kipevu Primary School. Hours of speeches, thanks, awesome music and dance presentations were hosted by the teachers at KPS, while the local residents came out of dark doorways to see what was happening: who had rented the sound-system playing top 40 hits; why were there now 1200 parents and students all outside laughing and dancing with these ecstatic Canadians? There should have been more parents, but most of the students at KPS are orphans. 

 

It is lighter now. Students at AKAM are below me on the field for an impromptu pre-breakfast football match.  The trees are filled with large, slow, white wings. 

 

Day two: we deliver 250 kg of library books and school supplies—the other half of our students' KLM luggage allowance. The teachers are over-the-moon with gratitude and excitement. Their texts were largely government issue paperbacks. We are bringing hardcover, full-colour atlases, story books, Eyewitness science books, math exercise books... we brought everything you donated!  Well done!  As Hemed keeps assuring me, in his slow Kenyan cadence: “Mr. Chris, let me tell you that this will have a major impact.”

 

As our students rearrange the library, I had a serious conversation with a selection of staff members about creating a culture of reading, and how they need to become experts on the pedagogical resources that we have provided. These are excellent, and capable teachers with strong reading and comprehension skills.   As I hand out texts on modern teaching practice, written by PhD. Eds, I can see that they grasp the weight of the challenge that has been presented to them. All eyes are on Kipevu Primary School now. What will they do with these Canadian ideas and resources? Will their ministry exam scores improve from their current rock-bottom performance? How do you become an expert on a text while living in a slum and teaching classes of 30 to 100 students? The staff at Stratford Hall could find more accessible versions of what I have provided and send them as .pdf files, but Rick's first lesson on how to use the computer we donated was the power button and how a mouse works. They can undoubtedly read what we have provided—much of their conversational English is more formal and correct than the typical Canadian's. The issue is not competence, but circumstance: we can have a positive impact on both.

 

Day three: the English grammar and composition workshop. It poured buckets of rain, leaving Hemed and I to bash around ideas about rainwater collection as income generation for the school. While our students tutored KPS students in various classes, I attended a professional development session with KPS staff and staff from surrounding schools, focusing on grammar and composition instruction. I left feeling inspired and energized, once again, about our shared profession's joys and challenges. This was just a room of normal, working teachers, eager to hear about what we do and how we do it. The Kenyan teachers I met in were extremely professional, well spoken, and excited to share ideas not just with me, but with each other. This project is much bigger than Stratford Hall and Kipevu Primary School. This is about hope for the entire community. Change is happening in Changamwe. Hope has arrived.

 

Day four: nothing to report, aside from report cards. It killed me to stay back at AKAM for a day, but at least some of the administrative work of 2009-2010 is almost done. Whew.  I'm happy enough to do it, because it is the school that got me here.  Hakuna Matata.

 

Day five: Today, I taught the grade 8s a creative writing class. As part of their final exams, which they must pass to be allowed to move on to secondary school (the only chance they have of getting out of the slums), they need to write a short story. They have 40 minutes. We had a blast. We worked on outline creation, high-impact vocabulary, creating a conflict in writing centered around moral choice... I'd like to say that 100 pairs of eyes were all on me, but a few students were passed out, sleeping, before I got in. Hard to write flash-fiction on an empty stomach. But then again, some of the writing examples I saw were easily better than many grade 8 writers at Stratford Hall. Some of the grade 8 students were also 17 years old. We made progress and they learned something new. Their teacher was thrilled. 

 

Afterward, we toured the slum surrounding Kipevu Primary, where most of the students live. It was horrendous.  I didn't take many pictures as I walked through, partly out of shock, partly out of shame: despite the great work we are doing, it doesn't seem like enough.  Amid the garbage and decay, everyone was welcoming and polite,  enthusiastically thanking us for our hard work and introducing us to their families.  There is a community there, living on the banks of chemical run-off, that was deeply inspiring. 

 

My spirits lifted once we started an ultimate frisbee game! I got the girls playing (I got a nice photo with three of them) and we had a fantastic time. Once the game was done, we assembled for a final cheer and I charged them all with the task of becoming the ultimate frisbee teachers in the school, with the mandate that it can never be played with boys only and that it must be a non-contact game. They promised to keep the spirit alive and to be experts when we return.  Mad love.

 

Day six: We toured Old Town Mombasa today. Fort Jesus was interesting. It is a 15^th century Portuguese military/slave trading base. Apparently, Henry the Navigator himself was there. Great views from a few cool lookout spaces and from the cannonades.

 

Next, a walk through Old Town Mombasa—good gift shopping. The wood carvings were beautiful, but I'm still hunting for the perfect gifts for family and friends.

 

I am now watching the England vs. USA game. Africa is World Cup craZEE!! Despite the culture of colonialism, Kenya cheers for England—after any African team, of course.

 

More to come after the final day and our Safari.

 

Mubarikiwe Sana: be blessed, very much.