Mwaka mmoja imeisha.

Can you believe I just spent the last year of my life teaching at a deaf high school in Kenya?? Can you? Can ya? Kenya? Well I sure can't! Ok, corniness aside, it seriously is a crazy thought that I've been in Kenya for over a year, and in Kilifi for almost that. I keep saying that I'm "coming home" for Christmas, and that is certainly true, but when I return to Kilifi after the holidays, I will also be "coming home." Kilifi is my home now and I couldn't love it any more. When I'm not here, I miss it. I miss Kilifi town and the beach and the bridge and creek and the million people who I don't recognize but know that I teach the deaf kids. I miss my grungy old house and my pakas, and the little rocky path I walk to school every morning. There are a lot of things about Kenya that I won't miss while I'm away, but there are a lot of things I will. Can you guess what I'll miss the most? (Hint: They're deaf.) That's right, my kids. I call them my kids, but many of them are my age. Even so, I still feel VERY protective of them and very responsible for their happiness. What's funny though, is that they've been the exact same thing for me, all throughout this entire year. We keep each other happy and we've all gotten quite good at it. We communicate so well, and understand each other so well, it blows my mind that I've only known them for a year. Some days it feels like yesterday I was sitting on that plane thinking "what the hell am I doing," and some days it feels like I've been here and known these kids forever. I think today is one of those forever days.

The school year is ending alright. It's Monday and the kids are slowly figuring out how they are going to get the money to travel home. Most of them have their parents send me money on my phone through m-pesa. They ask me to call home for them, which I gladly do, except when no one in their household speaks English. So my three half-hearing boys use their one good ear, and my phone, to speak Kiswahili to the parents and get things straightened out. The fares for the kids' travel varies a lot because they are from so many different places. Some are from right here in Kilifi, and luckily enough for them, they just need their two legs to get home, but some live really far inland into the heart of the Kenyan village, and some even live as far as Nairobi. What happens often is that since their actual parents live really far away, they stay with aunts or uncles or other family in Mombasa, or other places on the coast. Wherever they go I miss them just the same.

Last week for some reason there was a change in some of the kids' moral code, and a lot of them said they had things stolen; money, clothes, things like that. Then during exams a bunch of my Form 3's decided not to follow my instructions of not using a calculator and used one anyways. I caught them and got really pissed. I took all my Form 3's aside and had a really serious talk about following rules and respecting people, whether you like them or not. I was upset because this was the first time they blatantly ignored something I told them. They normally always listen to me because they know I care about them and they know I don't treat them like dogs, so they respect me in return. But this instance sort of felt like I was just cheated on by my significant other. I gave them a chance to explain themselves but they didn't really have much excuse. Some of them said, "well I saw everyone else doing it, so I just assumed it was ok." I asked them if everyone else in Form 3 went and jumped off Kilifi bridge would you follow them? Again, not much excuse. I'm usually always the teacher that plays around and is happy and goofy most of the time, so seeing me really serious and disappointed hopefully made them think a bit. They apologized profusely and said it would never happen again. Lessons to be learned right?

Anyways, so there were also those cases of them stealing from each other. It's really hard to pinpoint or accuse anyone, especially since they live in such close quarters, and all share stuff all the time anyways. Maybe it was stolen, or maybe it was just lost... it's always hard to say. But last week, one of my Form 3's, Thomas, told me that his box was broken open from the back end, and his 400/- fare for travel home was stolen. This was at the beginning of the week so I made every single one of them promise me they would come to my impromptu Life Skills lesson on Thursday afternoon. I spent a few days trying to figure out how to explain to them the concept of morals and right and wrong. But as soon as I started thinking about it, I realize that so much of it is cultural. It's just ingrained me that stealing is wrong, like I know the sky is up and the ground is down. I don't really know why, it just is. So if no one ever finds out who stole the money, and no one is every punished, and someone actually benefits from it, why is it wrong? You have to get money somehow right? So I started off my Life Skills session with a little story. Imagine Sarah went to America for the holidays and got some money from some very generous friends to help out her students in Kenya. When she brings it back to Kenya it ends up equating to about 10,000/-. She decides that this is kind of a lot and the students don't really need all of that, so she pockets 2,000/- and uses the remaining 8,000/- to buy books and calculators for her kids. (When somebody pockets money the sign the kids use is slightly reminiscent of eating, or swallowing, so that's how I now think of it.) No records were kept on this money, and no one ever asks where every shilling went, so no one ever finds out that Sarah kept that 2,000/- for herself, or "ate it" as the sign suggests. Life goes on as always and the worlds never knows what happened. I finished the story with the big question: "Is this right or wrong?"

The answers were all over the place and immediately there was disagreement. I let them fight it out for a minute or two, just to see what they thought about everything. Then I asked who thought it was wrong, and who thought it was right. It was literally about 50/50. I then asked each of the groups why it was right or wrong. It's right because you don't get caught and it's wrong because it's wrong. Then the concept of conscience comes into play. If I steal something, my conscience will kill me, and tell me that it's absolutely immoral. But how do you describe conscience to a bunch of deaf kids who need as much visual aid as possible in their language, and in a country where conscience is so vastly different from the way that I grew up? It's like trying to explain how the internet works. It's just there because it's there. So I took a different angle. A lot of the kids have asked me in the past if there is a Kenyan equivalent of the Peace Corps. "We know Americans can come to Kenya and help and teach and work, but why can't Kenyans go to America and do the same thing?" So I asked this question again to all of them and the answers got really specific really fast: Because there's more money in America, there's more technology, students study harder, etc. But why is that? So I asked them which country is more developed, why did I come to Kenya to help? That first part is easy to answer; obviously America, it's essentially paradise over there. But the second part was a little tougher. I came to Kenya because Kenya needs help. Sure, America is not perfect, but other than cell phone and Facebook, Kenya (along with many other African countries I think) is pretty far behind. But why does Kenya need help? Well, one of the reasons is because corruption and self-service and tribalism is so rampant in so many aspects of life here. Then I drew my family tree on the board and gave them another little scenario, making sure they know it's just an example. What if my grandparents grew up learning that 'skimming off the top' is one of the only ways to survive? Then when my dad is growing up, will he learn something different? Probably not. Then when Sarah comes into the world and grows up seeing her parents and her teachers skimming off the top and taking their personal share wherever they think it's right, and not getting punished or disciplined for it, is Sarah going to learn anything different? No, she's going to grow up thinking it's no big deal, and just how life works. But if this continues, and no one disrupts this constant generational flow of skimming off the top and helping yourself, then Kenya will forever stay the "nchi ya kitu kidogo" (land of a little something) that it's been for so long.

By the end of this they were dying to know whether me taking that 2,000/- actually was right or wrong, like it's answer on a test or something. I told them that it's wrong, but the truth is it just depends on who you talk to. But i figure I didn't come here to abandon my morals and forget what I stand for, so telling them it's wrong seemed right. I finished by asking them if it's possible for Kenya to change, if it's possible for Kenya to become more developed. About 90% of them said "no way," which was a little disheartening. I corrected them again and told them of course it's possible for things to change, but it won't happen fast. A very wise person once told me that change in Kenya is so slow it's painful. So I told them big things won't necessarily happen in their lifetime, but if they start now, by not copying everyone else just for the sake of conformity and culture, then it's a start. Similarly, when they grow up and finish school, some of them might become teachers, and though it might be a generation later, sort of, the idea of getting more sign-fluent teachers into deaf schools will start to become a reality. So many of them are completely hopeless about the future, because they're deaf and don't know English and it's just much easier to leave school and stay home to give birth and work in the shamba. This outlook on their future kills me, so I tried to explain to them the concept of hope, which, mind you, is just as hard to explain as conscience and the internet. I told them I believe in them and they are some of the most incredible people I know. All the people that make them mad because they treat them poorly or steal their money, those are the people they can choose not to become. It was an interesting Life Skills session, to say the least.

I also realized while I was teaching this lesson that I would never have been able to properly explain most of this stuff at the beginning of the year, because I didn't know most of their signs. I still learn new signs every day, but a year into teaching here I feel like I have a definite grasp on their language and a definite fluency with all of them. I've explained before about how KSL varies greatly depending on where you are in the country. It can depend on which province you're in, which school you're at, or in my case in Kilifi, which classroom you've just walked into. My Form 3's have a really well developed vocabulary, albeit some of it is really only understood by the Form 3's themselves. When the students come to secondary school, they're usually coming from lots of different primary schools. Which means that their signs will be different; not so different that they can't communicate, but definitely different. So the longer they spend in school together, the  more streamlined their language becomes. So my Form 3's, being the oldest at the school right now, have had three years to unify their signs. I learn new signs every day, and it's usually the Form 3's who teach them to me.

But sadly everyone has to go home now that school is out. It's not really appropriate in Kenyan culture for students and teachers to actually enjoy each other, but I miss those kids so much when school is closed, Kenyan cultural appropriateness or not. Thankfully this month and next I have a lot of traveling to keep me busy, and a wonderful visit home to look forward to. But as soon as I get back to Kenya I'll be anxiously awaiting the day when my kids come back. My Form 1's will no longer be the babies, my Form 2's will become Form 3, and my Form 3's will be the big bad Form 4's. That also means that a wonderful new group of Form 1's will be coming in. Yay! More deaf kids!

SO. I'm spending this week trying to relax and get ready for Friday, when I'm cooking a big Thanksgiving dinner (hopefully with some help) for a bunch of ex-pat friends in the area. This will be the third year in a row that I'm not home for Thanksgiving, and since my cooking partner Kate went back to the States, I'm gonna have to really cook up a storm. We've got a turkey ordered from Mombasa, plenty of wine and beer, and as many Thanksgiving-y dishes as I can possibly think of. I'll try to take pictures and keep you posted. Then on Sunday I have to catch a Nairobi bound bus to head into Machakos for Model School. Remember last year at this time I was prepping for the first time I would ever teach, at my Model School in Loitokitok? Well this year the Secondary Deaf Eds are in Machakos, and Amanda and I, being the big bad veteran volunteers, get to run Model School. They just opened a secondary deaf school in Machakos, right on the same compound as the primary school, and some of the new Form 1's will be staying behind to be students in our Model School. The new trainees will practice teaching, we'll have a talent show, and a bonfire, a movie night, and every type of condom-related relay game you can think of. I'll keep you all posted on that too.

Then when Model School is finished myself and the other PCVs there with me will head into Nairobi (carefully of course because of all our new travel restrictions) for our mid-service medical exams, where they will see whether or not I actually acquired shistosomiasis from the Nile in Uganda. THEN, on the night of the 8th, I jump on a plane back to the good 'ol U S of A. My schedule is rapidly filling up for my two and a half weeks in the States so if you want some Shub time you better move fast! Just kidding, I want to see everyone and I will def make time for it :)

Alright, I suppose I better attach some pictures to this novel. I always think 'I can't do a blog post now, I don't have enough to say!' But as soon as I start typing, I can't stop. Oh well.

Here's some of my boys on a random Saturday - David, Paul, Mwavu, and Mbaraka

The kids do their own church on Sunday morning:

I love them:

Me with my Form 1's 

And my Form 2's 

 And my Form 3's

So one year is finished, or mwaka mmoja umeisha, as they say in Kiswahili. Can't believe I'm halfway done.  Sometimes I'm really not sure I can take it a whole 'nother year, but looking at pics of these kids makes me realize I have no choice. I've said it before and I'll say it again: no one said Peace Corps would be easy, but it seems it's hard for all the wrong reasons. But I could never forgive myself if I lied to these kids about coming back after Christmas. So I'll be back guys! I promise.

Ok, had enough of the novel yet? Signing off and wishing everyone the happiest of Thanksgivings! Enjoy the family, friends, food, football, and general American-ness of everything for me.

Tutaonana very soon!

Miss you all bunches,

~ Shub :)

Almost a real school!

Pole (sorry) that I haven't written in a while. Things have been only mildly exciting in Kenya. School is still school (take that to mean whatever you want), Kilifi is still wonderful (but getting hotter by the day), and my kids still mean the world to me. Sometimes they ask me so many non-stop questions that seem so silly and minute that I get frustrated and forget how much I love them, and why. Last week my Form 3 girls told me not to wear light-colored nail polish because gosh-darnit Sarah you're already white. Today I spent most of math lesson reminding Emmanuel that this is a deaf school and he can teach me Kiswahili later. And every morning, no matter how many times I tell them I don't like it, they offer me uji anyways. Those are just a few of the many reasons why I love them.

Wait, what's uji, you say? Why, it's porridge! I've told you about ugali right? - maize flour boiled with water until it forms a sticky cake-y consistency and tastes like nothing. But ugali is palatable, especially with beans or sukuma (bloiled kale), and I actually crave it now. Uji on the other hand, for some reason, is just horrible. Uji is ugali with -- wait for it -- more water. It's liguid ugali. Maybe it's because it doesn't come with beans or sukuma or green grahams, but it smells like nothing and tastes like even less. Kenyans love it though, and my kids scarf it down like it's a bowl full of chocolate ice cream. It is the only thing they get in the morning, and besides half a cup of tea at 10am, it's the only thing from 6am to 12:30pm. So I guess a little uji is better than nothing. Maybe.

What's cool though is that we actually have our own kitchen now, up at the secondary school, and my kids no longer have to eat with the primary kids, and get served primary-sized portions. Due to some miscommunication at the beginning of the term between the head of my school and the head of the primary school, we had to construct a kitchen really fast and get ourselves cooking our own food super quick. The basics went up in a day or two, and the rest followed shortly after. Here's what it looked like when it first went up:

We all were pretty excited when we were first able to cook for ourselves. So I took a bunch of pictures of that too. Including one that my kids think is infinitely hilarious: the mzungu stirring (or rather attempting to stir) ugali:

(can you see the giggle on Francis' face?)

Anyhoodles, this is what it looks like now (minus some doors that they just put on yesterday):

Another thing I always think about Kenya and how we do things here, is the difference in things like building houses and food preparation. In America, when you want beef you go to the grocery store and pick from multitudes of different cuts, weights, fat content, prices, everything. If you want beef in Kenya you either kill the cow yourself or go to the butcher who just killed the cow 5 minutes ago. I think cows are harder to kill than goats, so we eat a lot of goat here. Also, our ugali is straight from the land outside. The maize was grown right on our school grounds, the kernels were picked off the cob by every single one of my kids and I, and it was ground into flour at another teacher's house. The beans come from a neighboring farmer and the sukuma comes right from our own school shamba (garden). The kitchen is made of mud and sticks and food is always cooked over a wood fire. We sit in the sun and eat with our hands and for me, everything tastes good because it's organic and unprocessed and real and seems exactly the way it should be. No plastic packaging, no expiration dates, and definitely no factory processing. It's pretty great. 

So we're up and running with food, and save for a girls dormitory, we're almost a real school! Huzzah! The boys have also been doing a good job clearing a nearby field for football. After an afternoon of slashing and moving rocks they all celebrated with a giant football game before dinner. The field is a little rough and not level but I'm sure continuous afternoons of playing on it will totally do the trick. Also, a while back, the boys decided the wanted a new football, since the ones they had were old and weak and fell apart pretty easily. So they pooled their money and had me go to Tusky's to get one. They gave me 800 shillings and I found a ball for 750/-. I was pretty proud of myself for finding it and the boys were super excited when I brought it home. Unfortunately though, it broke within the next week and we were back at square one. So for some reason (maybe because I can't resist their endless begging, big brown puppy dog eyes, and beautiful smiles) I told them I would buy them a new ball, and a good one this time. I figured my judgement on the right one last time didn't work so I would go by price instead; the more money it is, the better the quality, right? Well this time I spent 2,000/- and thankfully the ball hasn't died yet. Fingers crossed it stays solid or I'm out another few thousand shillingis. 

Last week, and for about 8 consecutive days into last week, it rained non-stop. This is obviously good for crops and water tanks and stuff like that, but not good for walking or playing football, or cooking in a roofless mud hut. The rain ended a few days ago and hasn't been back since, and has been rapidly replaced with scorching heat, which is what I'm a little more familiar with here. BUT the rains left a giant lake in a valley next to school which, to my surprise and no one else's, has proven really resourceful for Kilifi residents. All manner of livestock come to drink from it. Every form of transportation vehicle has been driven in it to be washed. People come to wash clothes, to drink, and bathe, and you wouldn't believe the number of little naked Kenyan children that spend all day in it just playing. My kids and I can sit on the front porch of the boys dorm and have a really great view of our new Lake Victoria/local watering hole. 

Since the rains have stopped, I can see the water level getting low, and before too long it'll just be a big pile of dust again, but for now it's pretty cool. 

Here's another pic I took of the boys dorm (uber clean for the weekend):

I remember when I first ever walked into the dorm, I looked around and thought, man this is like workcamp, but for life. Everything seemed so similar to those weeks in the summer I would spend at church workcamp rebuilding houses and sleeping on gym floors. I couldn't believe the condition of things here at the beginning of the year - those "mattresses" as they call them are just pieces of 2-inch high foam, and underneath is just metal rods. I mean, talk about uncomfortable. But a year later I realize now I only thought that because I've seen something different. It might not always be better in everyone's eyes, but it's definitely different. So it's all about perspective. My boys haven't really known much else in life, so for them, it's totally and completely normal; and in fact kinda nice because it's brand new. The mattresses are clean and they're used to them. And now for me, nothing here really shocks me anymore. All that crazy cultural crap we had to adjust to is just life. Look at me! I'm adjusted! Well, mostly. I'm still learning how to play the get-things-done-but-be-really-indirect-about-it game. That could take a lifetime to master. 

The new group of Education volunteers (trainees) got here on the 5th of this month and are currently in training right now. Hooray! Like my group, some of them are in Machakos (the deaf ed-ers) and some are in Loitokitok (the hearing ed-ers). There are two new Secondary Deaf Ed trainees too, one of which will be coming to Kilifi next week to shadow me at school. Eek! It will be so fun, and the kids can't wait. ALSO, for this new group's Model School, Amanda and I will be going to Machakos to run things. That will be the last week in November, shortly after which I'll head to Nairobi for my mid-service medical exam, and then (hopefully healthy) I'll jump on a plane back to the States :)

So other than that, nothing else is new! I hope America is good :) My itinerary for the trip home is still taped to my living room wall and constantly reminding me how awesome Christmas is gonna be. 

And what better to end with than pics of the monsters. Don't be fooled by the innocent faces and cute sleeping positions.

Aight peeps, cheers and I miss you!

~ Shub out :)

PS I got yelled at by a Kenyan today for feeding my cats because there are starving people in Africa. Wait. What? 

I just can't win.

Dear My Deaf Kids,

You guys are the best thing to ever happen to me. Thank you for always being patient with me, with each other, and with life in general. You have no idea how much I admire your constant strength and unfailing happiness. I hope one day you can realize how much you all have come to mean to me in so short a time. Two years is truly not enough. I will never forget the way you guys sign, the way you all say my name differently, and the way I have so little privacy and personal space around you. I love it and I wouldn't have it any other way. I adore your perpetual hunger for knowledge and learning new things, and I admire your heart and humility in learning them. I respect how brutally honest and utterly unreserved you can be; you have stripped me of any vanity and conceit and unknowingly forced incredible amounts of personal acceptance on me. I can never thank you enough for that. Please try to remember some of the things I taught you, and know that I strive every day to teach you guys as much as you teach me. Thank you for your openness, your perseverance, your stories, and your overall ability to spread unbelievable happiness. But above all, know that I hope you always stay your open, kind, cheerful, curious, patient selves.

                                   Love always,

Sarah, Sthedla, Thera, Aras, Chana, Madam, and always and forever *insert sign name here*