Monday, January 2nd

       Monday was spent mostly with Peter in Kakamega. Like the first time we met, he called me five minutes before he was to arrive at the hotel and I had to scramble to run out and meet him. I had been under the impression that he lived in Shikokho (pronounced Shi-ko-ho. You do not pronounce the second “k”), but he actually lives right in Kakamega. His wife and four children, however, live in Nairobi—I don’t know but I’m guessing because the schools are better. We swung by his apartment to pick up the keys to the Foundation for Sustainable Development (FSD) office. I got to see more of the town in the process. It is basically three main parallel streets, and I would estimate that the main city center is about 3 or 4 square city blocks. When we got to the office I made a delightful discovery—another white girl! She is interning with Peter from Canada, is also 22, and is also named Emily! We exchanged numbers so we can meet up sometime during these last three months of her six-month stay. She is living with a host family just outside Kakamega. As we sat there in his office Peter shared some gossip with us about a few of the other Westerners that have worked in or around Kakamega—whether with FSD, the Peace Corps, or teaching in the schools. They mostly involved white girls taking Kenyan lovers and causing big drama (typical)—the juiciest story stars a young American woman who had to abruptly return home to give birth to her half-Kenyan love child. The father (or shall I say Father) of the baby? Oh, just the Catholic priest.

Apart from warning me that I’m on my own when it comes to men (“I want to be your guide, but if you choose to have sex with a Kenyan man—that’s on you.”), Peter gave me many helpful tips on living and teaching in Shikokho. He explained how the school is structured and how I should negotiate my schedule with the Headmaster. Primary school in Kenya goes from grade 1-8, which they call "standards" (or sometimes "classes" instead of “grades” (5th grade is Standard 5, 6th grade is Standard 6, etc.). When they reach the secondary school, they are called "forms." So, 9th grade is Form 1, and 12th grade is Form 4. From there, rigorous examinations determine if you will be able to attend a 4-year University (although, just like in the States, some degrees—such as engineering—take longer to complete). 

 There are almost 600 students at Shikokho Secondary, which means around150 per form (grade). Each form is then separated for classes into “streams.” For the subject of English, each stream (meaning a class of around 50 students) has six 40-minute lessons per week (one of those meetings being a double period). So, Peter suggested I tell the Headmaster I want to teach two streams of English, which will mean 12 lessons per week. It baffles me that we are even having this conversation—you mean the school opens tomorrow and it hasn’t been decided yet what I’ll even be doing?? Can you imagine trying to pull that in the US? Maybe it’s because they are not paying me a salary, but I had no idea I would have this type of negotiating power—I assumed they would have made up my schedule for me and let me know the plan when I got there. I’m cool with this version of events, however. We also talked about how I can contribute to the school outside of the classroom. I’ve had it in the back of my head for a while now that I would like to start a chapter of the environmental organization 350.org. Peter liked the idea, but suggested that I put a lot of limits on membership, because if I’m not careful the whole school will show up for the club with the mzungu. I’ll take some time to think on it (“For the first month, focus less on doing and more on observing”), but right now I’m leaning towards an all girls environmental club. According to Peter, the girls in the school need strong mentors, as drop-outs due to pregnancy are on the rise. Lastly, Peter let me borrow two books on Kiswahili and the Rough Guide to Kenya. He advised me to keep myself busy reading to manage the culture shock better. 

 Because I had been running around with Peter all day (we went shopping after leaving the office) I had not eaten at all and was starving. Since it was my last night in the hotel, I decided to be adventurous and order one of the more expensive items on the menu—goat meat. Up until then I had been sticking to the vegetarian Indian dishes, which were 200 shillings on average. The goat—450 Kshs—came with potatoes and was a big disappointment all around. The goat meat had a delicious flavor, but was extremely tough and the majority of my serving was bones and gristle. The potatoes were bland, but I was delighted to find that the mound of shredded carrots that had been adorning all my meals was flavored with pineapple juice and was very good (making me half angry that I hadn’t tried it before). After giving up on the goat I popped in to see the mission group (they are a collaboration of two organizations—IDEA and VOSH—and the name of the trip is New Year’s Mission: Kenya Eye Clinic) again. They had seen Shikokho that day! I chatted with the pastor working with the group and he said he would try to visit me sometime this year (he lives in a village nearby). When I headed back to my room after dinner, one of the staff, Sheila, came to tidy up. Since the rooms are normally cleaned around noon, I think she had purposely waited until I was back so that we could chat. After asking my about the picture of Bryan and me I had propped up on the bedside table, she told me I had better come back to visit because, if not, "I will die!" What a cutie.