Songs of Praise for Kenyan Schools by Sally I'Anson

I can say with great assurance that my day, yesterday, spent walking through a Kenyan slum, was one of the best days of my life.  I was blessed over and over and over again.  Last, week I spent a day with Ann, from  the Holy Family Center and Jean, a community Health Worker in Kawaidah doing home visits in that community.  They arranged for me to go to two schools within the community.  This was a big favor as Mzungu are typically not invited. 

As Ann and I wound our way deep into the community to meet Jean her cell phone rang.  The ring tone is Michael Bolton’s remake of “Lean on Me.”  To each other’s  surprise we both began singing loudly and clapping to the beat and smiling broadly while tipping our faces up to soak in the sunshine and fun we were having together in spite of the grim realities of our surroundings.  I knew right then God was with us and was asking us to lean on him in his strength and glory no matter what we would encounter.

I was welcomed warmly by the deputy headmaster at the brand new Kawaidah Primary School.  He allowed me to observe part of a grade 8 English lesson and all of a grade 8 social studies lesson on the sources of revenue for the Kenyan government.  The classroom was large and the students were attentive, respectful and smartly dressed in their gray and blue uniforms and leather school shoes.  What I enjoyed most about the civics lesson was the teacher constantly and quite enthusiastically asking the students after each of his statements “Isn’t it?”  and “Are we together on this?” It was quite funny.  After exiting the classroom building into the school yard I was swarmed by more than one hundred elementary aged students pushing and squirming to get a hand close enough so that I could touch it.  I felt like God was dumping a full bucket of his love straight on the top of my head.  I was laughing and smiling at these children and marveling at their fascination with my skin and hair. 

My new sisters in Christ and I then headed for the Joy Pot Primary School in the heart of the slum.  It is a private school costing 600 shillings per month (roughly $6).  Students must provide their own uniforms and pay fees for books (which they can share).  This school was started by one man and began with only grades 1-3.  It became very popular quickly and parents asked him to add grades 4-7 right away.  The Joy Pot school is nothing more than a series of blue corrugated metal roofed wooden shacks strung together on a patch of dirt.  I estimated each classroom to be not more than 10’ x 10’ and classes ranged from 22 to 42 students in grade 2.  The students sat quietly smiling 2 or 3 to a narrow bench attached to a 8” board used for a writing surface.  Their uniforms were tattered and they kept their sweaters and hats on despite the stifling heat. 

In each of the 3 classes  I visited the students would greet me in unison then the teacher would have me come up to sit or stand next to her so they could sing me one or two Christian songs, followed by the teacher presenting a 5 minute lesson and then students would answer a question or two about the teaching.  I tried hard not to cry in front of the students when they sang because it was just so incredibly moving and beautiful with each child singing as loudly as they could and using the hand motions to act out the words.  

In this particular school they have a ritual that when a student gets an answer correct the teacher often says, “Let’s give him a clap.”  Then along with a clapping pattern the students say the following in unison “Give him a nice clap. And another one. And another one. You are the best. The  best of all.”  Adorably, the child who is being sung to stands and swishes his hips to the beat.  As my grandmother  used to say, “I felt as if I had died and gone to heaven.”  They saw how thrilled I was with this song that they sang it to me and I danced for them and laughed at them laughing at me.  Again, I felt God’s love poured over me .

The day ended sitting and chatting with my sisters on a bench located on a muddy ditch outside of a “shop.”  I was so happy sipping from a straw  in my filthy Sprite bottle eating Kenyan buns with a plastic bag on my hand knowing that God was protecting us and allowing us to appreciate the wonderful teaching and learning here in Kenya.

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