reactions

First, let me say that I am sorry the posts are few – internet has been slow and the days have been full, such that it is rare that I am awake and functioning enough to write a blog after 9 pm.  It is not because I have not wanted to write, in fact I have started a section of my note book for “blog ideas” and the page is growing full; I have so much on which to reflect.

It has been a week of internal reactions.  And as I reacted, I began to take note of those things over the last two weeks in Kenya which I have reacted toward and against.  I can draw no conclusion from these reactions; do not know if they are positive or negative or if any insight can be seen in them.  But they exist, and I have discovered that it is important for me to acknowledge them for myself, even if I rarely express these reactions outwardly.

I react against having to put down a swollen, malnourished baby so I can take my secluded meal of extravagance.  I react against people talking about me in Luo, as if I don’t understand when they gesture toward me and use my name.  I react against seeing a ten year old stay home from school because her feet are so torn up by jiggers that she can’t walk. I react against being asked to give words of encouragement to a family with such struggles that it seems offensive for me to tell them to work hard.  I react against being placed at the same table as the Prime Minister’s wife and a member of parliament not because of who I am as a person or my reasons for being in Kenya but simply because of the color of my skin.  I react against the fact that a girl who stays at our home looks exactly like Britney. I react against a friend being unable to walk home because after being seen with white people he will be harassed for money which he doesn’t have.   I react against walking into a hospital and feeling my body familiarly tighten in the palpable hurt and grief. 

I react toward the gleeful screams of children as the parachute lifts for the first time.  I react toward being greeted by name as I walk familiar footpaths to schools and homes. I react toward the sense of peace and stillness that comes with electricity outages.  I react toward wondrous, humbling confusion as I sit through an 8-hour Catholic mass in Luo, reminding me just how little I know.  I react toward being served last and seated at the back of the room in the presence of government officials, my skin color accurately being ranked lower than powerful and intelligent Kenyans.  I react toward the fact that a girl who stays at our home looks exactly like Britney.  I react toward watching two post-secondary girls, supported by Umoja, lead the Girls Empowerment Team workshops for class 1 through 5 girls with grace and skill.  I react toward having a two hour conversation with a primary school head teacher about the value of teachers, education, and special education, reminding me to be continuously thankful for all teachers and grateful for my education. I react toward an Umoja Project graduate and volunteer asking me each time we leave a school together, “so Callie, what did you learn today?”

With each step, I am cognizant of and reflect on my reactions, few of which I allow to be made public.  In doing so, I am learning about myself – about my stamina, about my values, about my mindset, about what comforts and stretches me.  I am learning about what helps me to grow, what challenges me, what renews my strength and rebuilds my smile. 

The other day at a home visit of students supported by Umoja Project, the grandfather and guardian of the children told us he was “taught by the world.” In these seven weeks, I am being taught by Kenya.