Let the Children Come to Me

Me with Class 6 outside their classroom.

I promised more details about the week we spent at the school, so here you go!

Our first week of ministry was organized for us since most of us haven't nailed down what exactly we'll be doing for the next year of internship. All 8 of us went to a local school that is run by believers but is not a Christian school to get the feel of the ministry and meet the teachers and students. We caught the school bus at 6:45 every morning along with the younger students and preschoolers (the older grades get on the bus even earlier!) and stayed either until 4PM if we spent the day with younger grades or 5PM with the older ones.

To start the day we hung out in the teachers lounge with the teachers, most of whom are about our age or a few years older. All of them are believers except for one, although their faith is relatively shallow and does not influence their lives very much. The school intentionally hired teachers who are followers of Christ to be a witness to the students, the vast majority of whom are Muslims from the area. As I spent time among the teachers and got to know some of them a little better, it dawned on me what an incredible opportunity they have to be a witness to their students. Most of the kids there will never have another exposure to Christianity outside of that school. Even if the teachers never shared the gospel or verbally proclaimed Christ to them, their daily lives have the potential to challenge lies and draw these kids to Jesus! It would be horrible to watch that chance slip by because of passionless faith or hypocritical lifestyles amongst the teachers.

A typical grade has about 30 students.

After a short devotion and prayer time with the teachers, we split up among the different grades and went with a teacher to the first class. Here in Kenya the classroom system is opposite the American set up. Students have an assigned room and desk and teachers rotate from class to class, which on this campus are each in small, separate buildings. So I joined 7th grade with their Swahili teacher for my first class on Monday, and as soon as he started teaching I knew I was in trouble. I could barely understand what was going on! Even after 3 months of studying Kiswahili for 4 hours a day, I could not keep up with a 7th grade Kiswahili class! It was overwhelming trying to catch words and make sense of the complex grammar lesson they were discussing, so I was very glad when a boy slipped outside and rang the bell for the next class. The rest of the classes, Math, Science, English, and Social Studies were taught in English (thank goodness) and were much easier to follow!

These girls made me tell them story after story about America!

After three or four 45 minute classes, the students went to the cafeteria to drink uji (a pooridge a little like cream of wheat) and we joined the teachers for chai break in the lounge. For most of the kids, this is their first meal of the day as Kenyans typically either don't eat or eat a very light breakfast. After a few more classes we went to lunch where we realized we had all forgotten to bring our own spoons! Since some of the kids are from such poor families and will steal spoons from the cafeteria, each student has to bring his own spoon if they want one, otherwise they eat with their hands. So, we joined a group on the ground with our bowls of rice and beans and dug in! And of course the mamas cooking gave us huge portions because...well maybe because we're adults, maybe because we're white, who knows! I knew there was no way I could eat all of it, so I started making friends with the girls around me and scooping some into their bowls! They just giggled and downed their whole bowl as I was just noticing a dent in mine. I don't know how they pack that food away so fast, but these kids know how to eat! haha!

After lunch we played games with the younger grades, most of which involved dancing and other embarrassing things for American girls but totally normal for African girls! The guys luckily escaped this and played soccer most of the time. Then the kids went back to class until time for the activity of the day, either sports, debate, clubs, or something like quiz bowl. And after one final class for grades 5-8, we loaded onto the bus and went home exhausted.

All of the students wear the same uniform to discourage discrimination between tribe, social status and religion.

By the time Friday rolled around, I was dead tired but totally in love with this school. The kids are so curious and full of life! One day as we were walking to class a boy started asking me and my team mate Warren a bunch of questions about America (it's generally the topic of choice around here...either that or Obama) and all of a sudden another boy who was maybe in 5th grade yelled "Hey, do you know Chuck Norris?" I was like "Uh, know him? I know who he is yeah...why?" He said with a straight face with his accented English, "Chuck Norris is my grandfather." I couldn't hold back the burst of laughter even to be sure he didn't think I was making fun of him...I just laughed and laughed and laughed! He disappeared before I could find out how he knew about Chuck Norris and if he'd ever heard a joke about him. If you've never heard a Chuck Norris joke, here's a sample :
-Chuck Norris does not hunt because the word hunting infers the probability of failure. Chuck Norris goes killing. -Chuck Norris counted to infinity - twice. -Chuck Norris sleeps with a night light. Not because Chuck Norris is afraid of the dark, but the dark is afraid of Chuck Norris. Yeah...you get the idea. It's a strange generational thing I guess. haha!

The boy in the front center is Eric, my 'black American' friend.

Another time I was sitting with the sixth graders waiting for the teacher to arrive and a boy walked up to me and greeted me like everyone does here. As he was shaking my hand he said, "My name is Eric and I am a black American." This time, the boy was grinning from ear to ear so I decided to play along, "Oh really?! Where are you from?"
"Chicago."
"Wow that's a nice place. But where did your ancestors, you grandparents come from?"
"Chicago."
"No, no. They couldn't be from America. All black americans came from somewhere else and most were slaves in America. But you already know that since you are one," I said teasing.
"Oh yes, they were slaves. But now we are from Chicago."
"Ok well what's the capital of Michigan?"
"Uhh...I uhh...I came to Kenya when I was very small so I don't remember. I was only two."
"Oh, well that explains it. So how did you get to Kenya?"
"I swam."
"You SWAM?!?! From America to Africa? You swam?"
"Yes, yes like Moses! I came in a basket."
"I see. That's incredible. So if you're really an American, what's your last name?" and he said with a smirk,
"Smith."
I laughed so hard at that one! I had no idea how he knew Smith was a common American name, but either way he'd won the argument. I laughed and said, "Wow, if you know that you MUST be an American!"
He walked to his desk with a huge smile on his face and I'm sure some huge popularity points for bravery.

I had many hilarious encounters like these throughout the week, and also some eye opening moments of understanding the culture and religion most of the kids come from. I made a ton of friends and I'm excited to spend time getting to know them and sharing the love and power of Christ whenever I can.