Unity

“At the end of the day, I took class five out to the field to play a game. After the bell was rung to dismiss for the day, several girls stayed behind. They examined my arms as usual. Today they noticed my freckles. So some of them asked, ‘Teacha, what are these dots?’

“ I explained that they were the result of soaking in the sun. ‘When I go outside, my skin gets dark, but not as dark as yours. There are little spots on my arms that so badly want to be Kenyan that they turn dark. That’s what freckles are.’ This made them smile.

“Then one girl said, ‘Teacha, I want to be white like you!”

“I immediately responded. ‘Why do you want to be white? I want to be dark!’

“I told them that since I was white, I was treated differently from them. My skin color sticks out in a crowd like a sore thumb. It is impossible to walk down a road and not hear, ‘Mzungu! I am needing some money,’ or ‘Take me to America!’ Going unnoticed even on my short walk home from school each day is not an option. Children of all ages run up to me, grab my hand, lead me to a shop, point to something in the window, and say, ‘Teacha, buy for me this!’ But how could I explain this to children?

“I continued, ‘…but we should we should each love our own skin color.’

“One of my pupils then asked, ‘Teacha, if you get cut by a razor, what color is your blood?’

“Many argued for a few minutes.

“‘Green!’

“‘Orange!’

“‘No, it’s black! I’ve seen it!’

“Then I stopped them. ‘You have black hair; I have brown. You have dark skin; I have white. You have brown eyes; I have green. But if someone peeled all of our skin off, you would not be able to tell me from you. You would see red blood, two lungs, bones, and a heart. We look different on the outside, but we are exactly the same on the inside. We aren’t different. God gave us different skin colors for a reason, though we don’t know what it is.’”

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Everyone.

Every. Single. Person.

All of the inhabitants of the earth.

All of us.

We need this lesson. To young children, the lesson is easily learned. They can know with confidence that we may look different, but that does not mean that we are different. It is simple to explain to a fifth grader that the blood of a white person is the same as that of a black person. It is simple to explain that we live in different countries and we speak different languages, but we are still united through the love of Jesus. It is simple to explain that skin color does not determine who you are; your heart and your desires are the determining factor. To teach this to ten and eleven year-olds is simple. They understand. But to those of us who are past primary school, who are past the stage of trusting everything we learn, who have entered to stage of doubt and disbelief, who are thought to be wiser than children, this lesson is tough. We have grown up to believe the stereotypes that are associated with each race, gender, and people groups. We refuse to believe that our differences could possibly be united in a common goal. We choose to accept the roles and the labels that society has chosen for us because they must be the truth. 

Along with this, we chose to believe that the lies made up about people who are different from us are the truth.

I don’t know who decided that wazungu blood is black or that white people never get hurt. This portrays us to be individuals who are better than others. But are either of those stereotypes true? No. I have red blood. I hurt myself all the time by tripping over thin air and face planting!

My skin color does not make me better than anyone else.

And neither does yours.

Because, like I told my class five girls, if someone were to peel off all of our skin, we would look exactly the same. Red blood. Lungs. A heart. Bones. Organs. Everything. A difference could not be seen between me and you.

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“They needed to hear this. But they still had one last question concerning our differences. ‘Cha, when you are running, do you ever fall down?’

“I threw my head back and simply laughed. ‘Girls, I fall down more than you! God created me to be a clumsy person to bring joy to others. Yes, I fall down all the time, and I don’t even have to be running to trip!’

“My girls laughed a little bit. We then walked arm in arm with one another until we needed to part ways to our own homes.”


I am living a life full of sorrow and joy, differences and similarities, prejudice and peace. Most importantly, though, my life is becoming an example that these extremes can be united for the same purpose. And that, my friends, is pure bliss.

Loving always,
Bekah

Kericho

"I had a marvelous learning experience. While teaching my first lesson, we were talking about safety when walking on the roads. We came across the term 'zebra crossing,' and I thought 'Oh! These must be equivalent to deer crossings!' So I told my class how we have these animals called deer that cross the roads and cause accidents. They all knew what deer were and understood about the accidents, but they did not see how this related. It was not until about twenty minutes later that I realized these 'zebra crossings' were for people, not zebras. They were, in fact, crosswalks."

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I have finally begun teaching for the summer. I am now located in Kericho, Kenya, about five hours (depending on the driver of the vehicle) away from Nairobi. I am in charge of 32 eager fifth graders for two subjects, and I love it. It's only been a week, but I already know that leaving them will be tough. My classroom is composed of so many different personalities, and all of them shine like diamonds. As my mother would say, "There's not a rotten one in the bunch!"

Honestly speaking, I adore being able to walk into my humble classroom each day and receive the greeting, "Good morning, Madame Bekah! We are fine; how are you!" as each student stands and smiles. I more than love walking around the campus and having hands of the younger students extend toward me for a handshake (or two or five) while they carefully try to balance both porridge and book bags in their other hand. I cannot express my thankfulness for the teachers of the school who have taken me under wing to show me how things around here are done and have given me tips and suggestions as to how I can better connect with the students. I love everything about where I am.

I live with a family from the school. All three of the children attend Light and Life Academy, and the father is the head teacher as well as the pastor of the church, which is located on the school property. The mother of the family works at a different school across town. They are too good to me. Being able to spend time with each of them and get to know their personalities brings me joy.

The house I live in is similar to an apartment; nineteen other homes are connected to mine. They form a rectangle with shared quarters in the middle. In this little area, the children from these households as well as some others play and sing and shout from the time they get off of school until about seven or eight at night. This has given me an opportunity to get to know children other than my fifth graders. I love going outside and hearing "Baykah! Baykah!" as they run toward me with their hands extended for a hug. I am surrounded by children 24/7, but I'm definitely not complaining. I wouldn't trade it for the world.

I shouldn't have favorites. I don't. But there is one particular little girl who maybe brings me a little bit more joy than some of the others. This girl is cute beyond compare and more precious than anything. She is often in our home because she is best friends with everyone in the house. This four year old and I often bond. She speaks to me as if I speak fluent Kiswahili, and, try as I might, I cannot get through to her that I, in fact, only know very little of Kenya's official language. Therefore, when she asks me a question I do not understand, I tell her, "Kiswahili kidogo (a little Swahili)" or make some kind of gesture to indicate that I have no clue what she is trying to ask me. Instead of taking these as hints that maybe we should have someone interpret for us, she will continue to repeat the question six or seven times until I distract her with something else.

Even though our communication is limited, I still love spending time with her. One evening, I was coloring with several kids at the dining room table. My precious little friend walked up and asked for a colored pencil, so I handed her the orange of my set. And then I saw her run home. Though I thought I was only letting her borrow it, it was not a big deal. It would be easy for me to get another when I get back to the United States. The next day when I arrived home from school, she was already in our kitchen chatting with the members of the house. She saw me walk in and smiled, but quickly ran out of the room after. She returned a few moments later and thrust into my hand that orange colored pencil. It had a bit more wear-and-tear than yesterday: the majority of the paint had been chewed off, the lead had been eaten, and the whole pencil was covered in slobber. I looked up from my hand to the face of my four-year-old friend. She had a smile from ear to ear. I must say, I was trying extremely hard not to laugh at the gift she bestowed upon me; she was so very proud of the returned pencil. I decided that it did not bother me if I was missing an orange colored pencil. So I gave it back to her, this time to keep forever.

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"As I take a break from my lesson planning, I straighten my back from the contorted position I had subconsciously been sitting in for an hour or two. I lean my head against the wall, close my eyes, and position my chin toward the roof. The tin covering this house is alive with pitter-patters of rain droplets singing in the evening sky. A small child stands near my window and hums the melody of 'God is so Good' over and over again in near-perfect pitch. The house has calmed after the chaos of the school day. Birds harmonically sing in unison of the joy of the light rain shower they are receiving. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world. No. But really. As I sit up in a good posture-improving position with my head resting against the wall of my bedroom and my eyes closed, I reflect on the day. I love teaching these children who are more than eager to learn whatever I tell them. I love hearing the 'How are YOU!'s and seeing the smiling faces of children who are simply happy to be at school for the day. I love receiving handshakes from hundreds of children, and even noticing those who have already received a handshake getting back in line for another. I shake every desiring hand as many times as they want. So as I think back over the day and over my first few days at this school, I ask myself, 'Could heaven be like this?'

"I certainly hope so."

Bless you all,
Bekah