Buses depart school at 9:00 am. We are on time. And on our way for the fifth grade inter cultural trip. So far so good. I never get to go on trips like this because I teach elementary. I am always jealous of the high school teachers who get to travel to amazing places and see really unique things. Not this time though. I won't be left behind. I get to go too!
First of all, I had never seen so much luggage. I think the kids might have brought their entire bedrooms. My father would have sent me on the trip with one change of clothes and a toothbrush. Be tough. These kids have multiple sets of shoes, giant pillows, foam mats thick enough to test the princess and the pea. Nonetheless our bus drivers and the workers manage to stuff us all onto the school buses.
Yes, we are going on a four hour drive and then an hour between each cultural activity, and then four hours back on a school bus. These buses are not the new modern type. These buses are pushing the limit of what one might consider as road worthy for a short drive through a parking lot. Rattling, leaking tin cans, bolted together in some places...did I just see a bungee cord? Rust "coloring" takes on a whole new meaning. The shocks might have fallen off 30 years ago and were never replaced. But, they are outfitted with a fancy shmancy impact camera which will pre-record several seconds before the crash. I think they can also record remotely and see what we're doing from the school. The seat belts were designed for the bellies of morbidly obese people and much to my torment, the kids keep them loose throughout the trip. I shudder every time I get a local news update about some multi-vehicle car accident where everyone has died. Only after the threat of dish or toilet duty, do they finally comply with a tight belt.
The ride up was rather uneventful. I played Uno with some of the girls in the back of the bus, the cards spilling all over the place as we careen down the road. Every bump in the road literally lifted us several inches into the air before slamming us back into our seats. We stopped for a snack at a hotel, let the kids run around a bit and continued to the campsite.
Upon arrival, we released the students to play and then set up their tents. The boys were on one side and the girls on the other. The adult tents were set up already so we assisted the kids with theirs. Hot and dry as hell, an oven like Gail force wind making it practically impossible to stake down our tents. Eventually everyone is successful.
Our trip organizer blows the whistle and we split into groups for a nature walk. Ha! We walked through someone's garden and looked at a few indigenous trees. Luckily it was a short walk and we returned to camp for a MauMau storyteller.
Well, she isn't exactly a MauMau, and she doesn't really talk about the British colonialism for the first 30 minutes. Mrs. Millicent was a school teacher and does use different strategies to keep the kids attention. Apparently she is a better replacement for the"old man" from previous years. Mrs. Millicent tells us the myth of the different tribes around Mount Kenya and briefly mentions how Kikuyu girls must be circumcised. This elicits excited murmuring among the students and anxious looks exchanged between the teachers. The story continues until we finally get to the MauMau and Jomo Kenyatta. At the end, the speaker asks if there are any questions. "What's circumsition?" one child asks immediately. But of course that's the only thing they heard. Mrs. Millicent feels all of the teachers silently staring her down to not answer and she says to ask their parents another time. Disaster discussion averted.
Dinner is served, we talk about the day around the campfire, eat marshmallows and drink hot chocolate, and get ready for bed. It was a successful first day.
Bright and early, we are up and getting the girls ready for breakfast and the day's activities. There is a huge line up at the one toilet for the girls and everyone is really grossed out. The toilets reek. The girls are still getting used to aiming in the potty. We have now asked the manager to have the toilets cleaned after breakfast, after lunch, and after the kids go to sleep. I feel really sorry for them. Of course our bathroom isn't any better.
The bus ride to our first destination was one of the most tortuous events of my life. Imagine the bus (described vividly above) and add a road which resembled the dark side of the moon. You needed to hold on for dear life just to prevent being launched from your seat. On top of this, there are 28 screaming and singing children. I heard the screeched chorus to every teenybopper favorite from Dynamite to Wrecking Ball. There were even a few classics like Old Macdonald and 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. (They sang all the way down to zero bottles and the to negative 99 bottles.) I think my favorite was the school fight song because for once they were all singing the same lyrics rather than an all out battle of the bands, competing for loudest most annoying song.
After an excruciatingly painful hour we escaped the confines of the bus at the MauMau caves. The freedom fighters (or terrorists to the British colonials) used to hide out in the cave using the part we visited as a hospital. Our guide led us through a short tunnel and gave us a brief history of the revolutionary events leading up to the British expulsion. Sadly much of the land around Mount Kenya just transferred from colonial ownership to becoming part of the vast holdings of Kenyan ruling elite.
Second we went to a Kikuyu village. Men and women, dressed in traditional clothing and ornaments met us at the road singing and dancing. As I have come to realize after several village visits, everything is a bit contrived and completely for tourist entertainment. We enthusiastically joined in the chanting anyway and wound our way through the more modern dwellings to the one and only authentic mud building. We learned how to grind maize into flour, make porridge, weave sisal baskets, and brew beer. The real people from the village watched us like we were animals in a zoo.
We returned to the camp for lunch and a very short break before heading off to the Ecotourism Centre. I am not sure what to think of this establishment. The building itself seemed fairly modern with high ceilings but the air was stagnant. I have never understood how Kenyans stand the heat. They wear long pants, jackets, hats and never sweat. With the combination of a very filling lunch and Harriet, the tour guide's, monotone voice, I was almost lulled to sleep. We reviewed the plants seen on our nature walk and the murals on the walls. It seemed as if this centre was begun by some good-intentioned nonprofit organization, but then the locals didn't really know what to do with it afterwards. By the grace of the gods, we made it out alive before being bored to death.
Last stop for the day was a farm where the kids would learn how to hoe, plant seeds, and milk a cow. They ended up having a great time despite the complete lack of organizational skills of the manager who also answered his phone at least twenty times while giving his little speil. Several students and I were a little put off by some of the farm workers beating a poor sheep and its newborn with sticks. Only to be followed by an assault on the dairy cow with what looked like a crowbar to get her into the milking pen. I realize some people have no empathy or concern for the feelings of animals, especially animals they consider to be dumb. I can assure you the bleating of the baby sheep and its mother, and the fearful look in the cow's eyes bespoke of sentient beings. Had the workers prepared for our arrival, put the sheep away first and penned the cow, the experience for all would have been much improved.
Finally, we returned to camp for dinner, campfire, teeth brushing, and bedtime. I was exhausted.
On a rather disgusting note, I realize I have not gone number two for several days. I think the close proximity of people, starchy foods, and unrelaxed feeling of squatting has affected my bowels. I don't feel particularly good and know I need to go. But I can't. I am so repulsed by the toilets themselves and embarrassed to stink up or make nasty sounds in the adult toilet that I wait until all the girls have gone to bed. If only they knew the creature about to be unleashed. Thankfully the cleaner had come and cleaned the girls' potty. Although after the foulness I deposited shortly thereafter, I should have paid her to come back and clean it again. I still feel guilty. Enough said.
Around 11:30 pm I am woken by someone crying. A little girl has a headache so I get her some medicine. Back to bed. 1:30 am. "Ms. Fine, I need to go to the bathroom and my tent buddy won't wake up. Will you come with me?" Yikes, I wouldn't want to go in there. I wanted to tell her it was safer to go outside but I didn't. I cringed as she entered and emerged, her face looking like death warmed over. 3:00 am. I have to go to the bathroom. Ugh. 4:45 am. Chatter outside the tents. The Muslim girls are up to pray. I commend them for their devotion but tell them they need to do it quietly. 6:00 am. Time to get up. It's a new day!
One of the chaperones does exercises and running with the kids. Then we eat breakfast and herd the "cats" onto the buses. A threat of no singing is in place. It's helps a little.
First stop is the trout sanctuary which is really a trout farm with attached restaurant. We wander around and view the different stages of trout raising. The kids get to feed and touch the trout as well. The highlight of this activity is the modern clean bathrooms. Everyone is thrilled. The other chaperones have been talking about it since breakfast and now I know why! The phrase "porcelain throne" takes on a whole knew meaning. I felt like royalty. The bathroom smelled wonderful. It had tile floors. Sinks with soap and warm running water. And best of all, a beautiful shiny white toilet complete with a seat and closing lid. I basked in the view around me, never wanting to leave the spacious stall. "Ms. Fine, are you ever coming out?" My sweet reverie is broken.
We return to camp for a leisurely lunch and break before going to Nayuki Primary School. This might be my favorite part of the trip. I loved seeing the children interact.
Our buses pull up to the gate and a child runs over to open it. A sea of children rush out from the buildings wearing green and white checked shirts or dresses, paired with brown shorts or pants, and green sweaters. All the Kenyan schools wear uniforms and despite the fact that some had been passed down from one child to the next, they looked orderly and nice. I had to smile as our ragtag group exited the buses.
The Nanyuki school had prepared a welcoming and thank you ceremony for us. We were donating some PE equipment and blackboards to them. Our students were shuffled into the center of the Nayuki kids who were all stoically silent and well behaved. I think with all eyes on them, our students were a little embarrassed and also, finally, silent and still. The director of the school gave a speech and then the fifth year students sang songs for us. Our kids joined in singing and dancing to the songs they knew. They are such an awesome group of kids.
After the ceremony, we joined the fifth year students in a classroom for some lessons taught by the Nanyuki teachers and one of our fifth grade teachers. The kids learned about rounding off numbers to the nearest ten, the names of the sounds animals make, and the big message or theme of a story. The teachers would ask a question and the kids all raised their hands, snapping their fingers, saying "Teacha, teacha." Hopefully our students don't pick up that habit. I did appreciate the strategy used by the teachers to hold the students' attention where they would say the first part and then expect the kids to finish the sentence. I might incorporate that in my classroom more.
Now it was time for some fun. The lessons were over and we walked outside for the Kenyan tradition of planting some seedlings to cement our new friendship. Then we played soccer and clapping games, jumped rope, and twirled hula hoops. A wonderful experience bonding and a little friendly competition was had by all.
One downside to the day involved me borrowing another chaperone's expensive camera and losing the lens cap. Hopefully they find it and mail it to Nairobi. Maybe I got a few good photos.
At last, tired, dusty, bedraggled, we return to our camp. It was now shower time. The girls and boys lined up on opposite sides of the bathroom building to take compulsory three-minute showers. The adults sat on benches in between them to call time and make sure they stayed on their respective sides. One at a time they bathed. It took over an hour (I checked and responded to 65 emails) but the girls sang, chatted, and even made some obscene burp and fart noises. I am so happy with their independence.
It's our last night and I am feeling a little melancholy. We roast the last marshmallows, drink the last hot chocolate, sing the final songs, and tell the final jokes. One more time for the school spirit song, fight song, and the terrible pumpkin song (See below). We send them off to bed. I dread the bus ride home but know I can now just put my earbuds in and work on my blog. I will miss them.
What have I learned? I think that despite our rough conditions and the worries of parents, this trip might be the best experience the fifth graders have before middle school. I personally have learned it is ok to say, "Fluff off!" And I expressed to one of the boys that I don't usually do stuff like this. He tells me compared to what his family does this is glamping. Glamour camping. I supposed I can survive glamping.
Some of the activities were great learning experiences, some were great team building opportunities, and some were a test of patience. Our tour guides were knowledgable, the Kenya people we visited were warm and welcoming, and the students were active participants in everything. Memories were made that will last a lifetime.
Pumpkin Song
I am orange and round.
I have a nose and a mouth.
I have a candle in my belly.
Whenever I run,
My head goes up, Pop!
Some people think I'm scary.
(Make a clawing motion.)
Roowwrrr!
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