There is so much that I want to write about-- my trip to Mombassa, playing soccer, and getting a refrigerator. And, it's February already-- crazy! These will all have to wait. Teaching is the topic today.
As I said in a past post, I am teaching at 5 schools. I am more or less a "regular teacher" two of the schools (these two are brother and sister schools to each other). In the other 3, I only teach one hour a week, sort of as a guest teacher for struggling students. As part of the "Access English" program, I think it gives some students exposure to my accent and teaching methods...in my opinion, I think it would be beneficial if I dropped one or two of these schools so that I could spend more time with the students and create more of a culture-- but I am a gracious guest and don't mind teaching one lesson a week to multiple children. Learning their names, on the other hand (never my strength), is a bit of a challenge (except I can rely on saying 'Fatma", and getting at least three responses).
In many aspects, teaching is truly universal-- or at least The US system shares some of the same characteristics as the Kenyan system. I think this could be true because we both modeled our educational philosophies off of the British (maybe forced to in both cases?) Either way, the same methods work in both cases, the same issues ruin lessons, teachers must anticipate the misunderstanding of students, etc. There are schemes (long term plans), objectives, lessons, and even a master-teacher-esqe inspector that comes on occasion. Perhaps the largest similarity is that teachers are undervalued in Kenyan society.
At the main school that I teach, the other English teacher reminds me so much of other first year TFA corps members. She is passionate, smart, and clearly wants to be the best. English is her second language, but she speaks and writes very well. She loves playing scrabble in English. I wouldn't say that I am the best scrabble player (I think Jillian Roland beat me by 300 points once [I didn't pick up one damn 's'!]), I only beat my coworker by 50 points or so. But English is her second language!
It is her first year of full teaching, she is afraid of making mistakes, she regrets the ones she makes and she dwells on them. As many first year teachers (myself included), she is trying to learn the difference between seeking approval from students and seeking feedback from them. The school is a boarding school, so she spends her time with the girls 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. And she is 19 years old.
To teach (perhaps because the school is private?) one doesn't need to have a bachelor's degree. She is working to get hers, but she is on semester break, so she is teaching and mentoring-- it is really incredible, actually. She has the with-it factor, too. (If you have time, read this article by Malcolm Gladwell) Completely devoted like many passionate first year teachers, she really helps her students out. She is struggling to find the balance between friend and mentor, but she is working incredibly hard to become a better teacher and does most of the work around the school. I think that she may be the best teacher, there, too. She, again, is 19 years old.
I cannot say that I agree with each and every ideal that TFA aligns (for all corps members, did you catch the pun?) I can say, though, that traditional teacher training probably does not give first year teachers much more experience than teaching your own class day after day. I will emphasize again, too, that good teachers are undervalued-- a number of teachers are still in college and are teaching on their semester breaks.
The major difference between our schools and theirs-- there is a lack of creative thinking. Most of everything is very rote. For English class, we practice incredible amounts of grammar, a smattering of terrible reading passages, some spelling and vocabulary. The teacher is at the front of the room, there are rows of partnered desks. I asked how many students wrote poetry before (after a failed lesson of an "I am" poem) and two of the 26 raised their hands. Either they really hadn't, which wouldn't be surprising, or they just failed to understand my accent.
This way of teaching reminds me of my father's papers of the 1950s and 60s-- he had to write EXACTLY 250 words describing an orange or my mother's Catholic classroom of 80 first grade students. I hate to admit it, but there are certainly some advantages to this methods. Students learn because they are forced to pay attention, the constant reminders allow the material to be drilled in their head. Misbehavior isn't allowed or 'else.' (Kenyans get the 'or else,' too, let me tell you.) Also, I know that both my mother and father needed to write poetry and read novels and the like. Both my parents are very smart-- so something certainly worked in their respective education.
The reason for this rote memorization, I believe partly, is due to the lack of resources at schools. There is no such thing as a Smart Board here... I live in a world of chalk dust, wooden desks that open up, and stifling classrooms. We don't have a copy machine, so everything is written in a notebook. I discovered that they have an LCD projector (who knows how they got this!?) and I have used it on occasion, but part of me thinks that they are conserving the bulb...I honestly have no idea where you would be able to find one around here. It is just the vibe that I get. We have some computers, but they are rarely used. In fact, watching the teachers type formal exams on computers is painful because of their speed. They sometimes just watch me write emails to see how fast the words come up on the screen. (Don't worry, I volunteered to type formal exams for them).
As for my teaching, I am operating along the same lines as I do in each new teaching experience-- it certainly is challenging but I am learning so much. They have such a difficult time with my accent. When they impersonate me, it comes off sounding like the Swedish chef on the Muppets. They aren't used to hearing the hard 'r' sounds because of their British past. The students are warming up to me, though, especially during 'games' time, when I coach them football (soccer) and volleyball. They love learning new songs so I teach them all of the camp songs that I know... they love it. It is a good way to learn some English, too! They are extremely well behaved in class, partly because they need to hang onto my every word or they will miss an important concept and partly because of the 'or else' factor. I teach Form 1 and 2 (equivalent to ninth and tenth grade) and they speak proficiently. Their writing, on the other hand, is similar to students at Ballou-- putting sentences and concepts together just isn't a strong suit. Isn't it strange that writing is such a taught skill when we speak it everyday?
There is so much more, but this is getting painfully long. More to come... and check out the pictures!
All my best,
Adam
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
More pictures
I love Kilifi.
A first person perspective in a tuk-tuk.
A very typical Malindi scene. Trash everywhere, cow eating trash, fires in the backdrop. They burn everything here.
The outside view of my apartment.Chakula
Ingredients:
Tomatoes, sugar, salt, vinegar, citric acid, spices and stabilizers.
If any American (and more specifically, Pittsburgher) had to guess the identity of this food product, my assumption would be a Heinz knock-off.
In Kenya, this is simply Tomato Sauce. It comes in a container like ketchup. It smells like ketchup. It looks like ketchup save for the eerie pinkish hue. It doesn’t taste anywhere as good as ketchup, but I would put it on my French fries.
I wouldn’t put it on my pasta.
Yesterday, when I asked my roommate to pick up some tomato sauce (he needed to run a few errands), I was being naïve. I had bought some pasta at the Italian Supermarket and was looking forward to some comfort food. By the time he came back, I was ravenously hungry. I heard him coming in the door and I immediately put a pot of water on to boil. Then he unveiled the queen to pasta’s king—a clear, plastic bottle of watered-down tomato and vinegar mishmash.
I was dumbfounded for a minute, but realized that the container said in black and white—“Peptang Tomato Sauce.” Not Peptano—Peptang. It doesn’t even try to pass for anything Italian. I laughed and explained my blunder to my roommate. It then occurred to me:
“What is the strangest food that you have ever eaten?”
“The noodles that you cooked last week.” (I had cooked a makeshift pasta dish with noodles, onions, peppers, tomatoes, olive oil and cheese).
I guess I was being stupid and privileged, or a lot of both. My roommate had never stepped foot in a restaurant other than one of the Kenyan persuasion. I than realized how blessed we truly are to have the options of a varied diet.
I told my roommate about this—in America, there are different types of restaurants that represent different ethnic cuisines. I then told him that in the biggest city in the country—NYC—there was not one Kenyan restaurant. He wasn’t disturbed by this, saying: “I should open one there, there has to be a market!” (He studied tourism and restaurant management in college.)
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I didn’t think that many Americans would enjoy the cuisine here. But, he said that there are many Kenyans in America that probably would like some home cooking. That makes sense. With that being said, here is a quick run-down of what I’ve been eating. There is not much variety, so I eat many of the same foods over and over:
1.) Rice: it is served with everything. Once a day I will eat a lot of rice. Usually, it is served with one of the following: potatoes, beans, collards, or a lentil-like protein. These foods are called Sukuma Wiki (a vegtable stew with rice which means “to stretch the week”), or Pilau. They include lots of spices, such as pillipilli (spicy chili). Wali is rice boiled in coconut milk and is common along the coast. It is usually served with fish.
2.) Ungali- My most loathed Kenyan food. This is a tasteless and odorless millet flour. It is served with stew, meat, fish, or greens. A solid, heavy form of water that merely sits in your stomach.
3.) Maandazi- this is a good one: deep-fried dough usually served with beans or coffee. It is like a donut without sugar covering the outside.
4.) Samosa- a very good deep-fried, triangular-shaped, meat-filled, hyphenatedly-described snack. Similar to an egg roll.
5.) Chapati- my favorite lunch or dinner food. A (you guessed it!) deep-fried flat bread that is usually served with spiced goat or beef (I prefer beef).
6.) Chai- a very sugary milk tea. This is delicious and is taken at 10AM at school every day. I like this a lot… but it is so damn hot outside that it is hard to enjoy.
7.) Biriani- this is a meat-based (usually chicken or goat) dish with a sour, chili tomato sauce on top. The taste is difficult to describe. Served with (you guessed it again!) rice.
8.) Last but not least, Uji. Uji is a porridge made from fermented millet or corn flour mix. It has an incredibly thick consistency with chunks of grain and a semi-sweet taste. The consistency is difficult to get past. I was served this at a home… and it took me forever to drink (to turn it away would have been extremely rude).
Kenyans drink a ton of juice, too. I love the freshly squeezed orange (the oranges are green on the outside here) or mango juice… or a combination of the two. Add some avocado to that mix and it is also delicious. Similar to other developing nations, the soda is better here, too. They have a soda named “Stoney” and it is a ginger-based drink… but you can actually taste the ginger in your throat. The soft drinks are made with real cane sugar (instead of corn syrup), and it truly makes a difference. And they are served in glass bottles that are returned to the seller—awesome.
Alright, that is far too much for now. Will talk about teaching soon.
Signing off,
Adam
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Cultural Mishaps and the War with Ants
My war with the ants has begun.
Yesterday morning, I had enough of seeing these colonial arthropod. They had found their way to my coveted baguette-- a textural oasis in the land of stew, rice and beans. This meant war.
I woke up, grabbed a mchungwa (orange), and made my way to the grocery store in the heart of town. I grabbed a few essentials including "Morteim Doom," the most lethal (and biggest) bottle of insect poison I could find. I decided to go to the Italian Supermarket to the wide range of delectable treats. Severely disappointment. It is nothing like a New York Italian Deli where you can buy an enormity of a sandwich over the counter. But, I met my first Western friend-- Alex. She is from Romania and has been working at a resort for a few years. We grabbed a coffee and exchanged numbers-- I am glad that I can ask her any of the stupid Western questions.
When I reached home, I unleashed havoc on the insects. The chemicals swiftly broke down their nervous systems and although I felt some remorse for the buggers and a general sense of disgust that those chemicals were circulating in my kitchen, I felt as though my food was decently safe (other than the DDT particles) for the time being.
Yesterday, a good friend whose house I've been to many times came over to do laundry. (His nickname is Matunda Mwizi or Fruit Thief, because he accidentally picked up our fruit instead of his one day). Now, I have my reservations about this man doing our laundry, but my roommate assured me that he had asked if we needed anything to let him know. This internal struggle relied on two key factors: 1.) I feel as though I can do anything myself, especially laundry and household chores and 2.) I am a mzungu and, more importantly, an American.
This last reason bothers me the most. In my own mind, there should be no reason that I should have special treatment, but it just doesn't work like that here. I don't want to seem ungrateful of the work-- to do laundry takes hours. Scrubbing, buckets, soap, drying-- it isn't like I am throwing detergent and my clothes in the washing machine. I just think that I can do my own laundry, it is only fair. My roommate insisted, though, saying that once you are a grown man, you shouldn't do your own laundry. (This doesn't quite make too much sense, though, since my friend who is doing my laundry is certainly a grown man.) My roommate doesn't do his laundry, either. Although I disagree, I don't want to be culturally insensitive. The best argument, though, is that I give someone a job to do-- giving them some extra funds to help his family.
That night, as we are taking down the clothing, my roommate looks quizzically at my boxer shorts hanging on the line. I asked him what the issue was, and he said-- "You're not supposed to give someone else your underwears. You wash them on your own."
Now, I am mortified. I didn't want to give my laundry away in the first place-- using wealth for services-- and now I make this mistake. This makes an incredible amount of sense, I suppose that I wouldn't want to hand wash someone else's underwear, but I had no clue. I thought long and hard about this and probably overreacted in my own head... but I have made so many of these cultural mistakes already. I guess that this is a very effective way to learn.
This morning, as a jumped on my computer, I saw an ant on the shellcase of my MacBook. When I opened it up, a few were scurrying in an out of the keys, IN THE COMPUTER. I seriously hope that they haven't found a way to chew their way through the circuit board. I can't use my DOOM on them here. It seems like they are attacking me where I am most vulnerable-- my connection to home. Luckily, I think I scared them away with the thunderous typing of this blog. Plus, one fingertip acts as a falling anvil. Only time will tell. I may have won the battle yesterday, but you know the rest.
Signing off,
-Adam
Yesterday morning, I had enough of seeing these colonial arthropod. They had found their way to my coveted baguette-- a textural oasis in the land of stew, rice and beans. This meant war.
I woke up, grabbed a mchungwa (orange), and made my way to the grocery store in the heart of town. I grabbed a few essentials including "Morteim Doom," the most lethal (and biggest) bottle of insect poison I could find. I decided to go to the Italian Supermarket to the wide range of delectable treats. Severely disappointment. It is nothing like a New York Italian Deli where you can buy an enormity of a sandwich over the counter. But, I met my first Western friend-- Alex. She is from Romania and has been working at a resort for a few years. We grabbed a coffee and exchanged numbers-- I am glad that I can ask her any of the stupid Western questions.
When I reached home, I unleashed havoc on the insects. The chemicals swiftly broke down their nervous systems and although I felt some remorse for the buggers and a general sense of disgust that those chemicals were circulating in my kitchen, I felt as though my food was decently safe (other than the DDT particles) for the time being.
Yesterday, a good friend whose house I've been to many times came over to do laundry. (His nickname is Matunda Mwizi or Fruit Thief, because he accidentally picked up our fruit instead of his one day). Now, I have my reservations about this man doing our laundry, but my roommate assured me that he had asked if we needed anything to let him know. This internal struggle relied on two key factors: 1.) I feel as though I can do anything myself, especially laundry and household chores and 2.) I am a mzungu and, more importantly, an American.
This last reason bothers me the most. In my own mind, there should be no reason that I should have special treatment, but it just doesn't work like that here. I don't want to seem ungrateful of the work-- to do laundry takes hours. Scrubbing, buckets, soap, drying-- it isn't like I am throwing detergent and my clothes in the washing machine. I just think that I can do my own laundry, it is only fair. My roommate insisted, though, saying that once you are a grown man, you shouldn't do your own laundry. (This doesn't quite make too much sense, though, since my friend who is doing my laundry is certainly a grown man.) My roommate doesn't do his laundry, either. Although I disagree, I don't want to be culturally insensitive. The best argument, though, is that I give someone a job to do-- giving them some extra funds to help his family.
That night, as we are taking down the clothing, my roommate looks quizzically at my boxer shorts hanging on the line. I asked him what the issue was, and he said-- "You're not supposed to give someone else your underwears. You wash them on your own."
Now, I am mortified. I didn't want to give my laundry away in the first place-- using wealth for services-- and now I make this mistake. This makes an incredible amount of sense, I suppose that I wouldn't want to hand wash someone else's underwear, but I had no clue. I thought long and hard about this and probably overreacted in my own head... but I have made so many of these cultural mistakes already. I guess that this is a very effective way to learn.
This morning, as a jumped on my computer, I saw an ant on the shellcase of my MacBook. When I opened it up, a few were scurrying in an out of the keys, IN THE COMPUTER. I seriously hope that they haven't found a way to chew their way through the circuit board. I can't use my DOOM on them here. It seems like they are attacking me where I am most vulnerable-- my connection to home. Luckily, I think I scared them away with the thunderous typing of this blog. Plus, one fingertip acts as a falling anvil. Only time will tell. I may have won the battle yesterday, but you know the rest.
Signing off,
-Adam
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Found this a half mile from my house
At a roadside market that sells second-hand clothes. Steeler Nation runs DEEP!
8,000 miles from home and I can't get away from country music
First order of business for those who don't feel like reading a whole blog entry: my PO Box.
PO Box 5398
Malindi, Kenya 80200
Send anything that you wish!!
------
I woke up to the sounds of Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton this morning. Like taxes, there are just some things that you can't get away from.
Yesterday, my roommate and I were planning to drive down to Mombassa to run some errands for the school and to check out the town. I have been dying to play a musical instrument here, and there aren't any music stores in Malindi (with a culture so rich with musical history...I am surprised?) But, we got a late start. We were ready to leave and our landlord who lives upstairs offered us coffee. It is rude to refuse just about anything here, so we had to wait for it to be 'brewed.'
Although Kenyan coffee is some of the best in the world, all the Kenyans ever drink is instant NesCafe. The reason for this, explained by Ms. Abby Holland, it is all exported for profit. (The same is true of Latin American countries). I remember sugar is like this in Hawaii, too. There also may be refining that is done elsewhere.
Regardless, we were off to a late start. We decided to switch plans and take a matatu down the coast to the town of Kilifi, where many of Abu Bakar's friends live. We took a tuk-tuk to the unofficial 'bus station,' and got a matatu, which is a mini-bus that fits as many people as possible. They have jokes and t-shirts about these vehicles-- they are about the size of a VW Bus, they barely stop at the stops, and they are crowded and smelly. We probably had about 15 people inside at one point, people on top of each other... just a lot of fun. The ride took about an hour or so and we passed many small towns. As we rode, I wished desperately that I had the biological knowledge of Peter Sniffen or Ruth Poland-- there were so many interesting trees and ecosystems that we were driving through...just to conceptualize how everything fits together.
We arrive at Kilifi around 11 or so and proceeded to visit all sorts of people. It was a bit difficult, as it has been, to join in some of the conversations. Usually people speak Swahili when they are with friends, so I just listen and wait to be addressed. Let's face it, I was pretty bored. I could pick up on some of the things that they were saying, but the majority was spoken so quickly with words that I had no idea of. I'm sure I could have asked them to switch over to English, but I wanted Abu Bakar to enjoy his reunion.
The highlight of the trip, though, was the beautiful beaches of Kilifi. Aquamarine waters, calm waves... it was just beautiful. I walked along the shore for about an hour or so with my own thoughts. It was really nice.
I didn't realize that Abu Bakar, though, wanted to spend the entirety of the day there. He has many friends, so we didn't catch a bus back until about 10 in the evening. I was utterly exhausted.
Going to Kilifi made me miss home a bit-- seeing all of his friends made me realize how much reunions between friends and families are so special.
There is some other news, though, too: one of my colleagues knows of some Peace Corps Volunteers at Gede, right down the road. I hope that we can meet-- I haven't seen an American since I've been here (or if I have, I have mistaken them for an Italian).
Hope that the Giants win today... I see that the Pens are on a hot streak and my prayers go out to Joe Pa and his family. What a mess.
Signing off,
Adam
PO Box 5398
Malindi, Kenya 80200
Send anything that you wish!!
------
I woke up to the sounds of Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton this morning. Like taxes, there are just some things that you can't get away from.
Yesterday, my roommate and I were planning to drive down to Mombassa to run some errands for the school and to check out the town. I have been dying to play a musical instrument here, and there aren't any music stores in Malindi (with a culture so rich with musical history...I am surprised?) But, we got a late start. We were ready to leave and our landlord who lives upstairs offered us coffee. It is rude to refuse just about anything here, so we had to wait for it to be 'brewed.'
Although Kenyan coffee is some of the best in the world, all the Kenyans ever drink is instant NesCafe. The reason for this, explained by Ms. Abby Holland, it is all exported for profit. (The same is true of Latin American countries). I remember sugar is like this in Hawaii, too. There also may be refining that is done elsewhere.
Regardless, we were off to a late start. We decided to switch plans and take a matatu down the coast to the town of Kilifi, where many of Abu Bakar's friends live. We took a tuk-tuk to the unofficial 'bus station,' and got a matatu, which is a mini-bus that fits as many people as possible. They have jokes and t-shirts about these vehicles-- they are about the size of a VW Bus, they barely stop at the stops, and they are crowded and smelly. We probably had about 15 people inside at one point, people on top of each other... just a lot of fun. The ride took about an hour or so and we passed many small towns. As we rode, I wished desperately that I had the biological knowledge of Peter Sniffen or Ruth Poland-- there were so many interesting trees and ecosystems that we were driving through...just to conceptualize how everything fits together.
We arrive at Kilifi around 11 or so and proceeded to visit all sorts of people. It was a bit difficult, as it has been, to join in some of the conversations. Usually people speak Swahili when they are with friends, so I just listen and wait to be addressed. Let's face it, I was pretty bored. I could pick up on some of the things that they were saying, but the majority was spoken so quickly with words that I had no idea of. I'm sure I could have asked them to switch over to English, but I wanted Abu Bakar to enjoy his reunion.
The highlight of the trip, though, was the beautiful beaches of Kilifi. Aquamarine waters, calm waves... it was just beautiful. I walked along the shore for about an hour or so with my own thoughts. It was really nice.
I didn't realize that Abu Bakar, though, wanted to spend the entirety of the day there. He has many friends, so we didn't catch a bus back until about 10 in the evening. I was utterly exhausted.
Going to Kilifi made me miss home a bit-- seeing all of his friends made me realize how much reunions between friends and families are so special.
There is some other news, though, too: one of my colleagues knows of some Peace Corps Volunteers at Gede, right down the road. I hope that we can meet-- I haven't seen an American since I've been here (or if I have, I have mistaken them for an Italian).
Hope that the Giants win today... I see that the Pens are on a hot streak and my prayers go out to Joe Pa and his family. What a mess.
Signing off,
Adam
Thursday, January 19, 2012
A Muslim State of Mind
5:30 AM in my first morning in Malindi and a strange language is blasting from a loudspeaker close to my house. I am smart enough to know that this is not Swahili. Nor is it some sort of severe weather warning. It is Arabic, and a very cacophonous call to worship that I hear five times daily.
When many Westerners think of Kenya, they think of the lions, safaris, natives who dance and wear traditional clothing, huge termite hills and the like. I doubt they think of the coast—which is dominated by Islamic influence. This will be my world for the next 9 months.
This will take much getting used to. I work for five schools, technically, three of which are private Islamic. I lead an after school tutoring session in two public schools, but most of my teaching is at a private, female-only Islamic school. The implications of working here certainly impact my stay in Malindi. As I stated in previous posts, the place is currently dominated by Italian tourism (anywhere in the vicinity of the city, I will get a “ciao!” from young children). Malindi denizens are divided through moral (and probably religious, in a sense) philosophy, where the one sect scorns the Italians for bringing in prostitution, drugs, drinking and the other which profits from the Europeans— the club owners and hotel/restaurant entrepreneurs.
As an employee to the Islamic school, my challenge is to be respected by my coworkers, while still maintaining my American (and my GD Christian) right to have a Bud Light every once in awhile. My roommate is Muslim—and head of school—so in my own home, this will be difficult. Also, I lack a refrigerator. In the same way, my roommate would never set foot in a bar, even to eat, for fear of someone seeing him there. Malindi is a small community, and he seems to know just about every other person.
Other than drinking, I have learned that dogs are not permitted in my house, nor am I allowed to wear shorts to a Muslim’s house. I am considered naked if you can see past my knee. I learned this the hard way, slightly offending my host for the evening. Of course, I had no idea until the next time that I visited (this time wearing jeans), where everyone seemed much more comfortable, save me, because, I am perpetually sweating my ass off.
It is highly likely, too, that I will never see the necks of my female students.
Perhaps, though, one of the most difficult obstacles is speaking my liberal mindset. In the staff room, I was talking to a university student who comes to help out at the school. Gender issues came up, and someone asked about female leadership in the United States. I told her that although there hasn’t been one in the past, I believed that there would be a female president in our lifetime. She responded, “I hope not; woman aren’t meant to lead.” I asked her why, and she said that they would lead with too much emotion. Saddened a great deal by this, I decided to keep my mouth shut. Perhaps farther along in my stint here I would rebut, but it didn’t seem to be my place at that moment or venue.
I am having a blast here—a different one than I ever thought was possible. And I’m not talking about call to worship.
-Adam
PS- I will be getting a PO Box soon for snail mail… I will keep you ‘posted.’ J
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Culture Shock
I am officially culture-shocked.
I made it to Malindi on the 13th, arriving my plane via Mombassa. Mombassa is a much larger version of Malindi, and this was my first taste of the omnipresent tuk-tuk and pikkipikki. The pikkipikki is simply a motorbike, while the tuk-tuk is much more interesting—think of a golf-cart sized tricycle with a motor. This thing makes a lot of noise.
Driving on the left side of the road will take some getting used to, but more is the lack of traffic rules and no pedestrian right-of-way. The horn is used as a universal ‘get-the-hell-out-of-my-way-or-you-will-be-hit’ warning. On our way to Mombassa, our driver scraped his under-carriage multiple times because he was driving on the dirt shoulder in order to bypass an accident.
When we arrived at Malindi we went to the beach and had the famous ‘chai,’ which is a milk tea. This is very good and is drunk around 10am every school day. The beach, too, is beautiful. It is no wonder why the Italians come here… but native Kenyans have opposing views of their European guests. Italians bring in drugs and are the monetary source for prostitution. Some Italians, though, do wonderful things for Kenya—at one of the schools that I will be working, the Italians donated much money for computers.
We arrived to the place that I will be living for the better part of the year to complete darkness. Every Thursday, they need to shut off the electricity for maintenance. The place is ‘interesting’ to be culturally sensitive. The bathroom and kitchen, sanitary meccas in Western homes, simply are not here. The place also lacks a fridge or a stove, but I will soon buy kerosene one. Ants are the true resident of this place; I am only their guest. However, compared to other places in this city, I am truly living in luxury. See pictures below.
For what my apartment lacks, my roommate makes up for. Abu Bakar is the head teacher, meaning he is sort of like an assistant principal. He is overwhelmingly kind. I always try to find a middle-ground with payment of tuk-tuk rides to the schools, meals, setting up my mosquito net, etc., because he offers to pay. This is the Kenyan way. I do not want to be an ‘aggressive’ American, but he would iron all my clothes if he had it his way.
I am learning the language as fast as I can, but it isn’t quick enough. I give all of my Spanish teachers so much credit… I would be able to get by in Spanish speaking countries. This is truly the way to learn a language though, after you have that foundation. I think I probably learned about the same in five days than I have in about a semester of Spanish.
On Saturday, I wanted to look for furniture for my room. However, wood, it seems, is very hard to come by. I found out the reason very quickly. After searching for about an hour, we found a chest of drawers that would be nice in my room. As we were looking at it, we pulled out a drawer and there were hundreds of termites chewing happily on the wood. The seller said that he needed to clean it and finish it… but of course I passed on it. I found another one and the man tried to sell it to me for about $200. You could easily find something of better quality on any street corner in New York City. My roommate explained this to me—“sometimes, the dealers just see a color” meaning that I am simply a mzungu (white man.)
I could go on and on, but this is all for now. Teaching starts this week, which will surely be out of this world. Stay tuned.
-Adam
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Don't use your left hand
In my last full day in Nairobi, we had the chance to discuss Kenyan culture and politics. Politics are fascinating, especially when comparing certain regions. The coastal people are marginalized in Kenya. Stereotypically, they are considered lazy, but in actually, they are a hardworking, proud, kind people.They do not have representatives in government, nor do they have much wealth. The new constitution is addressing this lack of representation, which hopefully will provide representation.
We also spoke of culture and manners. Some highlights include:
1.) Using your left hand to give anyone anything (or to eat with) is considered very rude, as is pointing with one finger.
2.) Throwing or tossing something to someone is a cultural no-no.
3.) Men need to wait for women to initiate handshakes in some cases.
4.) Averting eye contact when talking to someone is important (looking someone directly in the eye for a long period of time is "aggressive")
5.) Bowing (or bending) while shaking hands with an elder is considered good manners, as is serving or letting elders eat first at the dinner table.
I can't tell you how many times I had to tell myself to switch hands when handing something to someone after I had learned about the left hand rule. This made me realize that I probably made that mistake about 50 times at the hotel and in orientation earlier this week.
Also, I am planning on putting pictures up soon. I apologize for the lack of them, but I haven't really gotten out much. Just to buy a cell phone or 'mobile.' The system that they have for phone plans is so much better than the one in America... and cheaper. Buy a phone- mine is basic and cost me 30 bills, buy a 'provider' SIM card (this costs about 3 dollars) and buy minutes (this costs about 2 cents a minute). The only issue is that I'm 8 hours ahead, so finding the right time to talk is a bit tricky...
We also spoke of culture and manners. Some highlights include:
1.) Using your left hand to give anyone anything (or to eat with) is considered very rude, as is pointing with one finger.
2.) Throwing or tossing something to someone is a cultural no-no.
3.) Men need to wait for women to initiate handshakes in some cases.
4.) Averting eye contact when talking to someone is important (looking someone directly in the eye for a long period of time is "aggressive")
5.) Bowing (or bending) while shaking hands with an elder is considered good manners, as is serving or letting elders eat first at the dinner table.
I can't tell you how many times I had to tell myself to switch hands when handing something to someone after I had learned about the left hand rule. This made me realize that I probably made that mistake about 50 times at the hotel and in orientation earlier this week.
Also, I am planning on putting pictures up soon. I apologize for the lack of them, but I haven't really gotten out much. Just to buy a cell phone or 'mobile.' The system that they have for phone plans is so much better than the one in America... and cheaper. Buy a phone- mine is basic and cost me 30 bills, buy a 'provider' SIM card (this costs about 3 dollars) and buy minutes (this costs about 2 cents a minute). The only issue is that I'm 8 hours ahead, so finding the right time to talk is a bit tricky...
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Public Schools Around the Globe
Today began my initial orientation in Kenya. There are so many things to talk about and I am dying from jet lag (sorry for lots of typos and poor writing), but I wanted to highlight some of the great things today and then move on to the most interesting point that I have learned thus far about the school systems in Kenya.
A.) I met with my fellow teachers today. They seemed very kind, quiet, and respectful. Most seem to be my age and male, which was surprising.
B.) In Kenya, soccer positions are not by name, but number. For example, number 1 is the goalie and number 2 is the sweeper. This seems to make lots of sense.
Ok, now for what I think was the most interesting morsel that I learned about today-- the vast similarities between certain public schools in Kenya and inner city schools in the states.
We had a presentation today with veteran (20 years teaching) English teacher in Malindi. Her goals was to give "challenges in teaching English at the secondary level." Of course, when I heard this, I thought that I would be getting reasons such as the first 2:
1.) Pupils want to speak in local vernacular instead of English.
2.) Pupils attempt to translate language literally from their Mother Tongue, instead of the syntax of English
I thought these were great and valid reasons, and will certainly help my becoming an ESL teacher. However, the next 8 reasons or so were shockingly similar to issues that urban educators face daily.
3.) Large curriculum for a small amount of time- just like America, there is a huge emphasis in standardized testing. The test, too, are in English, as this is the official language and what is used to teach all content area in Kenya. (Moreover, this test basically puts students in a 'tracking' system, with those who score highly on the exam going to the best universities to become the professionals of the country.) What happens, though, is that the English curriculum is so large, it is impossible to teach any of the 'fun' stuff: drama, poetry, debates, story-telling. This is starting to sound all too familiar.
4.) Large class sizes- some classrooms have up to 70 students in them. Okay, perhaps it isn't like this in the states, but I know that Harcrow had at least 40 on her Spanish roster... and compared to other public schools in more affluent areas, the numbers are much fewer.
5.) Poor reading culture- students do not do after school reading nor reading for pleasure. This habit starts at an early age. This one is really self-explanatory... students in DC rarely picked up a book on their own.
6.) Lack of facilities- no computers or internet, no library, no field trips. To all my DC colleages-- remember the disaster that was Read 180? The library at BSHS? Field trips take time out of reading and math instruction. This, though, is probably a bit different-- inner city schools do a terrible job at allocation of resources where as these schools just don't have the means for them.
7.) Truancy- this one speaks for itself, but has a caveat. Some 'public' Kenyan schools are not purely public. The community sees the need for a school so they build one together, often having fees for students to keep the school running. It isn't entirely government funded. Therefore, truancy sometimes lies within the parents' inability to pay fees for their children. On the same note, students sometimes see the advantage of working in the tourism fields instead of coming to school. (In fact, they learn Italian over English in order to serve their tourist population in Malindi... and skip/drop out of school to do so).
8.) Parents lack of commitment- this one speaks for itself too... and reminds me of teacher-parent conference days.
9.) Exam Oriented- see number 3
10.) Lack of confidence, fear of making mistakes- this one could be chalked up to any student at any school, but I think the low self-esteem issues of urban students is exponentially worse than a more affluent suburban population.
11.) Last but not least, Teacher Training- this one is the most interesting to me, not only because my preparation for teaching my first year was 6 weeks, but also because I am a native English speaker. Before the 1980s, students of Kenya learned their English from native speakers-- missionaries, the British, Goans (British Indians). Now, teachers are usually those who come up through the Kenyan system. I don't know if you could make any striking similarities between this one and the states, but teacher training is certainly something that we don't do well enough... and is criticized by many for its inadequate translation in the classroom.
And that's all she wrote. I guess all of this makes a lot of sense when you think about it, but it raises the bigger question-- if all of these policy issues (standardized testing, class size, funding issues, etc.) are causing similar problems around the globe, isn't it time for a change in policy? Something to ponder...
A.) I met with my fellow teachers today. They seemed very kind, quiet, and respectful. Most seem to be my age and male, which was surprising.
B.) In Kenya, soccer positions are not by name, but number. For example, number 1 is the goalie and number 2 is the sweeper. This seems to make lots of sense.
Ok, now for what I think was the most interesting morsel that I learned about today-- the vast similarities between certain public schools in Kenya and inner city schools in the states.
We had a presentation today with veteran (20 years teaching) English teacher in Malindi. Her goals was to give "challenges in teaching English at the secondary level." Of course, when I heard this, I thought that I would be getting reasons such as the first 2:
1.) Pupils want to speak in local vernacular instead of English.
2.) Pupils attempt to translate language literally from their Mother Tongue, instead of the syntax of English
I thought these were great and valid reasons, and will certainly help my becoming an ESL teacher. However, the next 8 reasons or so were shockingly similar to issues that urban educators face daily.
3.) Large curriculum for a small amount of time- just like America, there is a huge emphasis in standardized testing. The test, too, are in English, as this is the official language and what is used to teach all content area in Kenya. (Moreover, this test basically puts students in a 'tracking' system, with those who score highly on the exam going to the best universities to become the professionals of the country.) What happens, though, is that the English curriculum is so large, it is impossible to teach any of the 'fun' stuff: drama, poetry, debates, story-telling. This is starting to sound all too familiar.
4.) Large class sizes- some classrooms have up to 70 students in them. Okay, perhaps it isn't like this in the states, but I know that Harcrow had at least 40 on her Spanish roster... and compared to other public schools in more affluent areas, the numbers are much fewer.
5.) Poor reading culture- students do not do after school reading nor reading for pleasure. This habit starts at an early age. This one is really self-explanatory... students in DC rarely picked up a book on their own.
6.) Lack of facilities- no computers or internet, no library, no field trips. To all my DC colleages-- remember the disaster that was Read 180? The library at BSHS? Field trips take time out of reading and math instruction. This, though, is probably a bit different-- inner city schools do a terrible job at allocation of resources where as these schools just don't have the means for them.
7.) Truancy- this one speaks for itself, but has a caveat. Some 'public' Kenyan schools are not purely public. The community sees the need for a school so they build one together, often having fees for students to keep the school running. It isn't entirely government funded. Therefore, truancy sometimes lies within the parents' inability to pay fees for their children. On the same note, students sometimes see the advantage of working in the tourism fields instead of coming to school. (In fact, they learn Italian over English in order to serve their tourist population in Malindi... and skip/drop out of school to do so).
8.) Parents lack of commitment- this one speaks for itself too... and reminds me of teacher-parent conference days.
9.) Exam Oriented- see number 3
10.) Lack of confidence, fear of making mistakes- this one could be chalked up to any student at any school, but I think the low self-esteem issues of urban students is exponentially worse than a more affluent suburban population.
11.) Last but not least, Teacher Training- this one is the most interesting to me, not only because my preparation for teaching my first year was 6 weeks, but also because I am a native English speaker. Before the 1980s, students of Kenya learned their English from native speakers-- missionaries, the British, Goans (British Indians). Now, teachers are usually those who come up through the Kenyan system. I don't know if you could make any striking similarities between this one and the states, but teacher training is certainly something that we don't do well enough... and is criticized by many for its inadequate translation in the classroom.
And that's all she wrote. I guess all of this makes a lot of sense when you think about it, but it raises the bigger question-- if all of these policy issues (standardized testing, class size, funding issues, etc.) are causing similar problems around the globe, isn't it time for a change in policy? Something to ponder...
Monday, January 9, 2012
I'm in Nairobi!
Well, I'm here in Nairobi. After three flights, a lot of airline food, and not much sleep, I am currently experiencing the jet lag of traveling halfway around the world. I arrived at my hotel around midnight my time (4PM EST).
I cannot believe how big those planes are. Holy smokes. It was like I was traveling in a flying city... and everything is so kept so small- the leg room, the meals, the bathrooms. Of course, I've been on a plane before but never this big of a plane. I wonder how they can even get that behemoth off the ground.
The flights, on a whole, were not too bad. On my first one to Amsterdam, I sat on the aisle with no one in the middle two seats... it was awesome. I slept about 2 or 3 hours of the 6 hour flight. The flight to Nairobi I sat in the window with a very talkative Dutch man. He was nice, but I wanted to sleep. I ended up sleeping probably about 4 hours or so on that flight, waking up to eat and stretch. The flight was delayed a bit, so we eventually landed around 9:30 PM.
The Nairobi airport is something else. As soon as you get off the plane, you are bombarded with this humidity and the duty free stores are plentiful. It seems like an old airport with not much upkeep. There were lots of westerners in the airport waiting for planes. I needed to call my contact at the embassy, but there were no payphones in sight. I ended up walking back and forth, looking for them... and when I couldn't find any, I just followed the line out to immigration. This is a big mess. There are multiple lines to get visas. There were very few instructions, so I just got in line that said "Visa Counter," assuming that someone would check my visa and let me through.
To make a long story short, I wasted about an hour. People who did not have visas had to wait in line, I could have fast tracked the whole process in about 5 minutes. My contact as the embassy was waiting for me... (luggage was there {although, I was probably the last person on the Amsterdam flight who picked theirs up}) and a nice man from Boston let me call from his cell phone.
My embassy contact was a bit worried about me, and I apologized for making her wait. What a mess that was. She is extremely nice though. She filled me in on the school a bit more-- I will be teaching 14-18 year olds (which is good!) and talked more about Nairobi as we passed through. I get to meet some of my co-teachers today, which will be good. The hotel that I am staying at is beautiful-- The Tribe-- and I have orientation starting in about three hours. Also, people drive on the left side of the road, which will take some getting used to. But the good news, too... they may have found me a house to stay in at Malindi. I've done some of my own shopping around too, and they said this is more than fine.
When I got to the hotel, the concierge joked about my Swahili... apparently Rosetta Stone has the words 'blue' and 'pink' wrong. She was impressed with the number of words I knew-- I guess not may westerners no any of it when they get here.
I saw that the Steelers lost in OT which is terribly frustrating. At least I won't miss any games. Go LSU... saw that N. Illinois won-- so its just you and me, Julian.
Signing off-- and hopefully more interesting stuff in the week to come.
I cannot believe how big those planes are. Holy smokes. It was like I was traveling in a flying city... and everything is so kept so small- the leg room, the meals, the bathrooms. Of course, I've been on a plane before but never this big of a plane. I wonder how they can even get that behemoth off the ground.
The flights, on a whole, were not too bad. On my first one to Amsterdam, I sat on the aisle with no one in the middle two seats... it was awesome. I slept about 2 or 3 hours of the 6 hour flight. The flight to Nairobi I sat in the window with a very talkative Dutch man. He was nice, but I wanted to sleep. I ended up sleeping probably about 4 hours or so on that flight, waking up to eat and stretch. The flight was delayed a bit, so we eventually landed around 9:30 PM.
The Nairobi airport is something else. As soon as you get off the plane, you are bombarded with this humidity and the duty free stores are plentiful. It seems like an old airport with not much upkeep. There were lots of westerners in the airport waiting for planes. I needed to call my contact at the embassy, but there were no payphones in sight. I ended up walking back and forth, looking for them... and when I couldn't find any, I just followed the line out to immigration. This is a big mess. There are multiple lines to get visas. There were very few instructions, so I just got in line that said "Visa Counter," assuming that someone would check my visa and let me through.
To make a long story short, I wasted about an hour. People who did not have visas had to wait in line, I could have fast tracked the whole process in about 5 minutes. My contact as the embassy was waiting for me... (luggage was there {although, I was probably the last person on the Amsterdam flight who picked theirs up}) and a nice man from Boston let me call from his cell phone.
My embassy contact was a bit worried about me, and I apologized for making her wait. What a mess that was. She is extremely nice though. She filled me in on the school a bit more-- I will be teaching 14-18 year olds (which is good!) and talked more about Nairobi as we passed through. I get to meet some of my co-teachers today, which will be good. The hotel that I am staying at is beautiful-- The Tribe-- and I have orientation starting in about three hours. Also, people drive on the left side of the road, which will take some getting used to. But the good news, too... they may have found me a house to stay in at Malindi. I've done some of my own shopping around too, and they said this is more than fine.
When I got to the hotel, the concierge joked about my Swahili... apparently Rosetta Stone has the words 'blue' and 'pink' wrong. She was impressed with the number of words I knew-- I guess not may westerners no any of it when they get here.
I saw that the Steelers lost in OT which is terribly frustrating. At least I won't miss any games. Go LSU... saw that N. Illinois won-- so its just you and me, Julian.
Signing off-- and hopefully more interesting stuff in the week to come.
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