An appreciation for all that is

Kileva is small. Pre-school through Class 4. An intimate community of parents and staff members set up a celebration inside a classroom. We're delighted by a song and dance by class 4. Parents in the audience yell and scream with support as each boy and girl come together in unison. Then it's the grown-up's turn to dance! Men and women move and groove with reckless abandon. With every sway, every twirl, there is no hardship, no worry, nothing but joy and goodness and utter appreciation for life. It is such an honor to be there firsthand, absorbing their positive energy--a feeling that leaves you remembering how beautiful and meaningful life is--and how fortunate we are to be breathing.

We pass out pencils to each class. These students are calm and reserved, and they cradle their pencils like treasure. It is such a gift. The potential of their small hands. Inside, I'm giddy thinking about the possibilities of education and connection. I want to hold each hand and bask in the glory of what they can do. What we can do together.

Outside, Julius, our wonderful driver (and Swahili tutor,) sets up a game of catch. I orgnaize more relay races. Ndovu, ndovu, simba. Frisbee and jumprope. Boys vs. girls (which seems to be the norm here.) Of course, girls seem to have a slight advantage... but I'm not partial. Nope, not me.

I ask one of the older girl's for a pair of scissors so I can cut a plastic tie on a jumprope. She bends down to her tiny, pre-school-age-brother, and he pulls a razor blade out of his pocket. I'm shocked. In amazement, I hand it to Julius, our wonderful driver, and he cuts the tie for me. I'm reminded again that Kenya is a different place. Kids here learn to survive at a very early age. Whether it's push-starting our car, carrying a razor-blade in a pocket, or using a machete to help cut down grass around the school to keep out snakes (as Nicola saw earlier,) these young, young kids figure it out.

They learn how beautiful, yet absolutely trying life can be. The result? I'd have to say appreciation. A thankfulness for all that is. Family. Food. Friends. Balls. Frisbees. Pencils. Laughter.

And I'm right there with them.

Anticipation and Exhaustion

Meeting of the Teachers

Kileva Primary School, about 50 students, Class 1-4

We are met at the small school by Margaret, the headmistress. Parents working out front chopping and clearing tall grass away from the buildings—it’s

a snake haven here and this will provide a safer environment for the kids. We discuss how we can help—and we decide to come back on Friday. It is the first day of school here in Kenya—the start of the year when kids move up to the next class. They spend this first week transitioning, waiting for teachers and supplies, food for lunch, waiting even for students to show. We gather together class 3 and 4, both of which speak some English. We put them in a big circle and try to teach them the “Ndovu, Ndovu, Simba” game. Eventually, they get the hang of it, and we play for a while—laughing and chasing each other around the room—that is until we spot 2 or 3 wasps nests hanging above in the rafters. The schools here in Sigala Hills have no electricity or plumbing, but Kileva has had a few rain

containers donated for water collection. But they are in desperate need of the basics: teachers, supplies, food for the students. I find myself wishing on star and star after star. Time to leave, we say tuna ona baaday, see you later, and leave to a hundred waving hands, fifty smiling faces.

At Mwambiti Primary, we are welcomed by 240 wanafunzi (students) clad in bright orange uniforms waiting outside and in classroom as

their teachers hold a staff meeting. (students spend a lot of time waiting here.) They quickly gather round us, and we take photos of the joyous crowd. I ask them to teach me to count to ten in Swahili—moja, mbili, tatu, nne, tano, sita, saba, nane, tisa, kumi—I can’t remember them all, and all 240 students erupt in laughter. It makes me happy. We crash the teacher’s meeting—and they are very reserved at first. They introduce themselves and their years teaching—30 for the senior teacher! When they find out we are there to help in any way possible, the mood lightens (despite the huge wasp buzzing around Grayson's head.) The English teacher is excited for me to talk about writing. We promise to return Thursday, and say goodbye to the smiling faces once again.

Kajire Primary is by far the biggest at 500 students, Class 1-8 (which includes kids up to 17 if they don't pass exams in class 8.) We are greeted by many staff and community members, all welcoming us with a handshake (a special shake from the younger men.) We talk to headmaster, Michael, and he is overjoyed to have us support his school. There will be a celebration for us on Wednesday and then we will spend the day there. Possibilities bubble up inside me.

For the rest of that day, we spend time organizing more books, pumping up balls, and making lesson plans for the rest of the week. We work on the two laptops (one for Patrick, one for Kijere School--thank you Sheila, Kim, Lien and Mark for your amazing donations!) It is a time of anticipation and exhaustion, and the heat doesn’t help. But that night, we get it all done and begin the countdown of two days. What a gift to be here.