Laughing In The Face of Adversity

The boys and girls alternate who walks me home, each evening.  It's a quick walk, but we all drag it out longer than necessary. We stop to look at the sky, I point out familiar constellations, and the brilliant Milky Way, clearly visible to the naked eye. It is generally the best part of my day with the children, as they save the deeper questions that require long answers for these moments, in order to prolong the day, and possibly load up their pockets with chocolate. Despite Tabitha's loud protests last night, it was the boy's turn. As we got to nyumba yangu, the boys sat down, and began peppering me with questions about what will happen in 3 years, when they enter Secondary School. Where will we go, will this still be home?  If it isn't, will you always come to visit? My heart broke a little on this evening, naturally, but I chose to answer the children with soft directness and honesty.  


Too often the children's questions are not answered directly - the cultural tendency is to ignore, lie if the question is difficult or simply tell them to get busy instead of asking so many questions. What I have found here repeatedly, especially within the school system, is that lying, using a heavy hand and abuse are the easiest way out. What the educators do not grasp is that this simply creates another generation of dishonesty, which invariably leads to corruption. Wanjiru waxed on about communication, counseling, and listening to children, on Monday.  He doesn't believe a word out of his own mouth, it is all for show, especially when I am in his presence. Wanjiru is parroting what he hears and does the exact opposite. He is exactly what is wrong within the convoluted educational system here in Kenya. A fish rots from the head down. What lies below Wanjiru is just as bad, if not worse.

As the boys and I talked, it did not escape them that in 3 years, at the end of Class 8, they will be 18, 17, 17 and 16 years...they laughed about this, and looked at me as if to confirm the fact that their own futures are in question. I turned the question back on them: "Where do you want to be in three years? What do you see yourselves doing?"  The boys had to think on this. I could see the wheels in their minds turning. All want to go on to Secondary School, of course. All have hope for a bright future, and want to be contributing members of society.  These boys understand far more than their educators think they do, or give them credit for. All orphans do...I don't view our children as innocent beings, as they are in developed countries. Ours lost their childhoods before they got to us. It's our job to give them everything we can, fulfill their needs and to restore their faith in humanity and to learn to respect their peers and adults. 

I was frank with the children and told them that they will likely go to secondary school close to home or close to their guardians, in 2022. I explained that their guardians are required to have a role in each of their lives, and that WWC is considered, by law, temporary.  "Think about it, when you graduate from Primary School, you will be of the age where it isn't appropriate for you to be living in the same compound as young children anymore.  Do you understand?" They shook their heads yes, smiling, and wholeheartedly agreed. "You will want some liberties to explore life, no?"  Smiling, we began talking about this and at one point I cautioned them: "In all your excitement, don't forget that it is our job to teach you the way, and your job to pay close attention to the direction you are given.  All of us take your futures very seriously.  

Karanja asked me about the meeting with Wanjiru, and what happened.  Everyone wanted to know. I told them the truth, that Sara had been partially blamed for what happened, and she had been deemed responsible for pursing the boy. "Mwongo" they all chanted at once. "Lie".  "I know its a lie. I did not expect a different outcome."  "Auntie, Wanjiru is scared of you" Eric announced. "Yes, I know."  Eric went on "He tells us all the time, if we are not happy or if we get beaten and protest, 'Tell your Mzungu to go find you another school.'  Sometimes after a beating, he says 'Are you going to tell your mzungu??"  I told them not to worry about anything they hear about me or Uncle Tony. "We both know what goes on."  I asked about the beatings, something I have been fighting for 10 years. They regaled me with stories about how the entire school gets beaten. "Even Baby Class?" I asked.  "YES! Wanjiru picks up the little ones by the ears. Even Faith."  (Faith is our youngest, at 7).  "Kipro (a Pastor/Teacher) makes classes line up against the wall, with our hands on the wall, so he can beat us with his big plastic pipe."  I had my head in my hands as I was listening, shocked. The boys, seeing my horror, couldn't contain themselves - they went on and on about the weekly punishments they had all just endured, laughing as they spoke. I actually started laughing, too. "Wanjiru told a boy in Class 6 to go get him some tea and bring the sugar, because 'I need the energy to continue beating you.'  "AND?" I practically screamed.  The boy did, and Wanjiru beat him. One boy in Class 8 had enough of the beatings.. he beat up Kipro and Kipro begged for mercy." None of this was funny, of course, but all of us were laughing. Laughing in the face of adversity. 

Eric

Pastor Pete                                          

Mundia

Brian

Penina and Tony told me today that Class 8 at Ereteti is going on an "agricultural" field trip and we need to give Wanjiru 1000ksh for the trip. "Are you serious??" I asked. "If the school cannot give an 11 year old protection from assault and attempted rape, in a so called safe environment, why on earth would we allow a 14 year old to go on a field trip with the very same teachers who couldn't protect our little girl?  Absolutely not. If Freda wants to go on this trip, we will take the entire home together."  Further, from experience, the majority will not be able to come up with the 1000ksh, but those who do must pay forward, and lose their money when the trip is cancelled.

Ann came today and the children spent the majority of it with her, completing their beaded gifts for their sponsors.  It was a raucous and delightful day. I went from child to child, reminding them to write their letters, and helping where necessary. We ate beans and hot sauce, pizza and ended the day by making chapati and gorging on it. We also celebrated Brian and Rophan's 12th birthdays, gorged again, this time on cake, and had fresh avocados and chapati for dinner, which I helped make :)  

20 beautiful and ripe avocados for $2 USD

This is what a typical birthday cake in Kenya looks like - surrounded by packages of sweets.

Tony feeding Brian his first bite...

...and Rophan hers

It was a great day here in East Africa. We had a ton of fun and many, many laughs. Despite a week of emotional upheaval, all is well. I continue to learn more from these children, each successive day I am here. I laughed again with the boys, until it hurt. They found my funny bone with their vivid descriptions and imitations of those who cause them harm. Their acceptance of what is, is remarkable. As Tony has reminded me for many years, "Sometimes, the only answer is, 'this is Kenya'. "  I could write a dissertation on this statement, but it will have to wait.  

Much love to each of you reading tonight.

Lala Salama,

Simmie and Rophan  (Birthday girl)