Ah, summer…a time for sun, water, and trips to Kenya. After teaching high school this past year, I was rewarded with the coveted result–a summer off. And after several failed attempts at visiting Kenya in recent years, I figured it was now or never when an opportunity presented itself once again.
Tucked into a small table at the Irish Rover this past December, drinking warm cider while freezing rain pounded outside, my old friend Bobby Nichols approached me with the opportunity of traveling to Bungoma, Kenya this summer. There, we could live and teach at the newly-developed St. Xavier High School. A former St. X teacher himself, Bobby had been informed about this new school developed by the Xaverian Brotherhood. It sounded great to me.
Fast forward to June. Those who have flown across the world know it can be tough, and indeed I almost didn’t even make it out of my own city. A 6-hour delay in Louisville caused me to miss my separately-booked international flight from NYC to Nairobi, Kenya, and after appealing to the airline company, it appeared as though my flight cost would double, approaching the realm of $3,000. I was strongly considering ending my long-sought trip before it even began.
This reality was slowly seeping its way into my sleep-deprived brain just as I was climbing aboard an escalator. Unfocused, I did not quite position my large bags correctly, and what followed was a slow motion tripping/falling/flailing sequence, where I fell back over my bags, tried to recover, then fell again. The entire escalator lurched backwards right there in the middle of the NYC airport before I finally regained my footing. Defeated, I rode the rest of the way to the top, avoiding eye contact with a dozen onlookers. Perhaps this was not to be after all.
At the top of the escalator stood a man with Delta Air Lines. I started to apologize for nearly breaking the escalator, but he simply responded, “Are you alright?” It was a small question that provided me great relief. He led me over to the Delta counter, then ultimately made a phone call to cancel the extra $1,400 fee and rebooked me on a different flight so that I could still arrive at my destination on time. I nearly cried. It’s true–you never know when people could really use a helping hand; I suppose it doesn’t hurt to be a clumsy idiot attracting sympathy, either.
Twenty-five or so hours later, members of the Xaverian Brotherhood approached us in Nairobi. The Brotherhood occupies six countries throughout the world. In Kenya, brothers live in Nairobi as well as the town of Bungoma, where the Ryken Center for orphaned boys and St. Xavier High School were founded in recent years. I brought some Old Forester bourbon to share with the brothers. It was gone after one night.
The next morning, we made the 250-mile journey to Bungoma. A distance that would take four hours in the U.S. instead lasted seven, despite what my guide Raphael deemed “fantastic traffic.” Why? Most roads were but two lanes, and were occupied by more than just your average car and truck. Motorbikes called Picky Pickies and three-wheeled carts called Tok-toks, both of which serve as public transportation, lined the streets, forcing us to slow and pass at regular intervals. They weren’t the only novel sightings–hundreds of cows grazed right next to (and occasionally on) the roads, while goats, donkeys, monkeys, and wild zebras also came into view. Lush, green fields and mountains melted into dusty, chaotic downtowns and back again.
Finally, we arrived in Bungoma and entered the private compound of the brothers. I walked down the hill to find perhaps the only other mzungu (Swahili for white person) in Bungoma: Bobby. Seeing a familiar face in such a faraway place was a welcome sight. As we connected, eyes from across the school grounds swarmed. The mzungu population on campus had doubled, a rare sight considering some students had never before seen one; they initially grabbed at Bobby’s skin, “trying to pull the white off.”
I began teaching the next day. In this new but highly-regarded Kenyan private Catholic school, students wear matching shirts, ties, and slacks. We came for the “cold” rainy season, with temperatures hovering in the 70s-80s, so matching green sweaters made appearances as well. The school is simply divided into grades–a classroom with 30-40 Form 1 (Grade 9) students, another for Form 2 students, and so on. While the classrooms are open air and occasionally also occupied by a lizard or two, a modern science lab sits across the way. Down the hill, a massive and modern eating hall is currently under construction. This school seems to epitomize the norm and the elite exception all at once. The kids are eager and excited to meet another mzungu; we chat about America and learn about complex sentences throughout the day. They are intelligent–smarter than many of the students I teach back home.
Boarding schools are much more common in Kenya, and this is one of them. Most of the boys come from different parts of Kenya; a few hail from nearby Uganda. On Saturday, mass is cancelled because the priest cannot come, so the boys mostly sit on the verandas and talk. I make my way around, listening to several students who already express a sense of sadness that, despite attending a premier school with a yearly tuition equivalent of $500, there may be limitations if they remain in Bungoma or Kenya in the future. Several express hopes of getting to the U.S., appealing to me as though I have the power to get them there. Besides finding them an email contact, it seems there is little I can do.
We also have many joyful conversations, and in particular I’m struck by the demeanour of those I have met here–many Kenyans have an easy, gentle way. From a soft handshake to quiet murmurs, they are reserved, but happy. This is particularly true of the postulates, with whom Bobby and I stay with up the hill, about a quarter of a mile from the school. They are brothers-in-training, going through a period of discernment about whether this is the life for them. Each day, they rise and have a prayer service or mass at 6:30. As sky lights up, a postulate named Clinton bangs on the drums while Joseph shakes an instrument called the paukwa and another bangs a tambourine. Their voices swell with the rising sun.
And so that is how we’ve spent our days so far, following the gentle rhythm of spending mornings and evenings with the postulates, days down at the school with the brothers and students. Soon, we are to explore outside of the compound, with plans to travel to Lake Victoria and venture out on a safari in the Massai Mara. While there is still much to see, much has already been observed.
A few more observations:
—Things take time. While the class schedule at St. X Bungoma is ten 40-minute periods each day, other activities are less time-restrictive. Freshman orientation takes upwards of five hours on a Saturday. Many things do not start right on time, which works well for me.
—Infrastructure is poor. There is no other way to say it, though roads are improving. We think back to the centuries of oppression waged against this continent and see the results still manifested today.
—Corruption is plain. Here, a friend explains that politicians build entire resorts simply to flaunt their wealth, a contrast to the more covert practices carried out at home.
—I miss food variety. Ugali is the food of choice here—a simple mixture of flour and water. It is typically eaten with beef and maybe mixed greens 3-5 times a week. Still, everyone loves ugali.
—Climate can actually be diverse here. Our temporary home of Bungoma is lush, filled with rivers, crops of all kinds, delicate flowers, brightly colored birds. Up north, our friend stays at another school where the climate is hot and the school is surrounded by sand.
—The genes are magnificent. After holding a few impromptu track practices, it is clear that these Kenyans are absolute speed demons. With impeccable form, they glide around the field while the mzungu struggles to keep up.
—The British took a lot during their 60+ years of ruling Kenya, but they did at least leave one thing: awesome British accents. Here, you don’t drink tea, you “take tea.” Short vowel sounds and plural nouns (popcorns, monies) make this language so fun.
—There is great devotion to the future. Teachers, administrators, and coaches at this school begin the day by eight in the morning, and many are present on the grounds until six in the evening. They boast of growth in recent years, of plans for a new library and computer lab, of test scores reaching new heights. At this boarding school, all involved seem to treat it not just as a job, but as an experience that will yield fruit and perhaps a brighter national future.
I am only beginning to unravel the intricacies of life here, but have been greeted with many smiles and surprises so far.
If you are interested in donating to the boys of this community, the following are examples of financial impact:
$500 Total cost of tuition
$200 Covers the cost of school fees
$150 Monthly Teacher’s Salary
$50 Cost of a student’s uniform
$10 Weekly cost of lunch
$1 feeds 100 local homeless boys
Donations can be made via GoFundMe.