"Madam, may I assist you?"

Friends that come out to play as soon as the lights go out

Unlike my last few posts, I am in a solidly good mood as I write this.  I have just come back from buying a few groceries for the first time on my own and—as far as I can tell—the women did not even attempt to cheat me on the price.  Peter had warned me about buying food myself and told me to make sure that, until I was familiar with the prices, I either texted him or had someone with me so I could be sure I got a fair deal.  So, on Tuesday I flagged down Centrine, our librarian, on her way out of the school compound and asked if she would accompany me as I shopped.  We walked about 100 yards outside of the gate to the nearest street corner (I use the term “street” very loosely), where I can see around 2-5 women sitting in the grass selling produce on any given afternoon.  Centrine did most of the talking as I smiled at the group of primary school students hanging around staring at me while they chewed on sugar cane.  I purchased about 2 pounds of sweet potatoes for 20 shillings (somewhere in the neighborhood of 25 cents) and 2 small mangoes for 10 shillings (12 cents).  They also convinced me to try some sugar cane, so for 1 shilling a woman took a machete and hacked off a piece about 5 inches long for me.  They started to explain to me how to chew it, but Centrine seemed inexplicably offended when the children began to giggle at me and she ordered me to keep walking.  She seemed equally perturbed at another small group of boys who giggled as we walked by and spoke to them in some very aggressive-sounding Kiswahili.  A little farther down the road I was able to buy tomatoes (3 small ones for 10 shillings) from a tiny store that looked like it carried some candy and probably Safaricom top-up cards.  Dinner—and then some—for under a dollar?  I’ll take it.  Celestine then showed me how to chew the sugarcane. It looks like bamboo on the outside, except a little thicker and solid in the middle.  The inside is white and you basically rip off strips with your teeth and suck out the juice before spitting the leftover strip onto the ground.  It was definitely more pleasant than I expected—much juicier than you would think.  The first couple “bites” were very refreshing in the hot sun, but I soon tired of using my teeth and the sticky juice covering my fingers.  I waited until I got home then chucked the rest of it behind the house.

            This week at school has been great.  I’m beginning to learn more names and I’m more comfortable with the schedule.  Discipline in class has not been much of a problem so far, but as the students grow more comfortable with me I can tell this will become a more significant issue in the near future.  This morning a boy wanted to leave class a few minutes before the lesson was over and I had to physically place my hand on his chest before he would sit down.  Yesterday was the only day so far that I’ve truly lost it—I still haven’t the faintest clue what the problem was, but I was asking for their homework and getting blank stares in response.  I don’t know how to say, “Give. Me. Your. Exercise. Books. So. That. I. Can. Grade. Your. Homework… NOW!” any more clearly.  After a few minutes of this (and, ok, a lot of waving a book in the air and yelling) I simply walked out of the room with the small pile of books I had been given and gave the students who did not turn theirs in zeros. 

            Grading homework is slightly irritating, as none of the students (or teachers) use loose-leaf notebook paper.  Instead, I must collect their entire exercise books and return them by the end of the day so that they can do that night’s homework.  Not only does this take up an inordinate amount of room on my desk, but it is also a headache to search through the books for the assignment I am grading.  Even though I have them turn in their books open to the correct page, it can still be a challenge.  More often than not they have not made any distinguishing marks between their notes and the homework assignment, and almost as often they (inexplicably) write from the back of their books to the front—so I never know which direction to flip the page to find the rest of the assignment.

            I am becoming much more comfortable around the teachers.  I still do not know most of their names, but I’m getting better.  It helps that there is a timetable in the staff room that lists when each teacher has a lesson—twice this week I’ve seen a teacher walk into the 2 Blue or 2 White classroom and immediately dashed over to the timetable to see whose name is on the timetable.  Like her husband, Mrs. Mwimani is growing on me.  She does not talk much, so I initially took her as unfriendly and slightly intimidating.  But, as she teaches the other Form 2 English class I have talked to her more this week and I find her to be perfectly lovely.  Thomas had mentioned that she is lazy, but I have found absolutely zero evidence of that—Every time I try to speak with her she is either busy grading or surrounded by a crowd of students asking for help.  I got a bit irritated at her and the other English teachers (Lihungu and Sarah) yesterday, however.  

            A couple weeks ago when I first began teaching all three of them told me to focus on grammar.  They would flip through the textbook and any time anything had the heading “Reading Comprehension” or “Writing,” they said, “You can skip that.”  Lihungu’s actual words were, “Reading is a waste of time.”  So, naturally, these past two weeks I’ve been only teaching grammar.  Well, yesterday Lihungu comes over to my desk in the staff room and asks me if I’ve been teaching Literature.  Um, no?  He says, “You should really be teaching Literature.”  Ok, so I ask Sarah where the 2 Whites (her former class) are in their Literature studies.  Her answer was to ask the class prefect (yes, they have prefects and a Head Boy/Girl, just like Harry Potter!) where they were.  Um, ok thanks.  Lihungu told me the 2 Blues were due to start learning poetry, and in lieu of the poetry textbook I asked for he handed me a former student’s old exercise book.  GREAT.

            Peter visited the school today.  He works with an American organization called Helping Hearts and Hands, through which Americans sponsor students at the school.  Right now Peter is in charge of choosing 10 students who are both bright and in need of school fees to be awarded the scholarships.  He brought me some groceries I needed (rice and olive oil) and a letter that came from my Aunt Lynda (thanks guys!)!  I had also asked him to bring me some chocolate and he came with two Cadbury chocolate bars with caramel.  I am definitely missing sweet things so I am beyond excited to eat them.  Walking out of the staff room towards home, no less than 4 passing students asked if they could help my carry my grocery bag the remaining 200 yards to the house.  This seems to be a common theme among the students and the teachers.  After class each day I am usually surrounded by students asking, “Madam, may I assist you?”  It’ll be to the point where one person will have my textbook, one person will have my box of chalk, one person will have my notebook, etc., and I’ll have to walk around gently taking my things away to carry for myself.  Then they’ll say, “I will accompany you?” and after I say “No” I have to quickly duck out of the room before they can ask “Why not?”  Because I don’t need you to walk me 50 feet, that’s why.  With the teachers it is less a desire to carry things for me and more of a concern that I eat enough.  If I take more than a few minutes to leave my desk after tea or lunch is served, I am invariably approached by someone asking, “Madam, you’ll eat lunch now?” or “You do not take tea?” I also often get comments about how little ugali (staple food made from maize) I load onto my plate.  Well, sorry, but it’s tasteless and, frankly, gives me gas.

            Well, I’m off to cook my dinner.  I got some onions and more tomatoes today from the women selling produce.  They were very smiley and seemed happy to see me and, like I said before, gave me fair prices on their goods.  They wanted to be sure I knew that they spoke some English and understood me.  A very old woman sitting with them, who did not seem to understand me, held her hand out as if she were asking for money, but I pretended like I didn’t notice.  On the walk back I stopped to talk to a group of three primary school boys, but as the first words out of their mouths were “give me your money,” I kept on walking.  A little irritating, but it did not hinder my overall good mood.