Becoming a Student Again

Sometimes, as contrary as it may sound, you have to let go of what you love.   Sometimes it’s the only way to grow.  Sometimes it’s the only way to know.  Sometimes it’s the only way.  Sometimes, it just is.  

My first love is teaching.  I will never be able to articulate how important my students are to me.  One of my favorite aspects after graduating college has been my students.  I’ve been surrounded by outstanding friends, experiences, travels, and family, and my students have always made me laugh, think, appreciate, reflect, stay young, look back, look ahead, and live life.  You can easily look at any child and know that the entire world lies ahead of him or her. It reminds you that the entire world lies ahead of you as well, regardless of age.

With the world ahead of me, I started chasing my second love, public health.  As many of you know, I went to Kenya and had the experience of a lifetime. I ended up teaching Women’s Health and it led me down a path that did not have the option of turning back.  Last summer, I took the GRE and got into the number fifteen school in the nation for public health, the University of Illinois at Chicago.  The acceptance letter was bittersweet.  In the blink of an eye, the hours of studying, the nerve-wracking testing, and the tedious amount of time spent on the application had all joyously paid off.  The electric shock of happiness cooled quickly as I realized acceptance of this lifestyle meant leaving behind my current one.  The decision ping-ponged in my mind for months.  Could I leave something I loved so much?  What if I was making a mistake?  Would I regret leaving?  Would I regret staying?  Which did I love more?  Could I love both equally?  I was plagued by questions with no answers, and those are the worst questions that exist.  But, alas, I came to a realization.

The hardest choices aren’t the ones where you don’t know if the move you’re making is the ‘right’ one.  The hardest choices are the ones where you are leaving one love for another, so both choices are the ‘right’ one.  Just as some of us have left a lover to chase a possibility, put miles between friends to capture a wish, and have parted from family to tackle a dream, I am leaving teaching to chase, capture, and tackle a possibility... a wish... a dream.  So, with a heavy heart, I bid farewell to my first love, teaching, to pursue my other first love, public health.  Cheers, District 204.  It’s been a beautiful ride and an even more beautiful journey.

If Baseball Were Like School

Every time you got up to bat, you’d get at least a base hit because strike-outs wouldn’t exist.

The game would be modified according to each player’s needs, so if you didn’t hit well, at minimum the first baseman would be removed, but in essence, all outfielders could be removed to make each player feel successful.

If you never showed up for practice, you would still play well in the game because coaches can make any player successful.

If you hit a single, but you wanted a double, you’d get to re-bat until you achieved your goal.

If someone caught the ball you hit, you’d re-bat and re-bat until you were successful.

If you missed an easy catch, you’d be excused from it and no one would hold it against you.

If you were on the field, not paying attention, and missed a major play, we wouldn’t blame you, we’d blame the coach for not being good enough.

The good players would be rewarded by sitting on the bench unchallenged and the not-so-good players would get all of the coach’s attention.

If you mom or dad disagreed with the coach’s decision, your mom or dad would win instead of being ejected from the game.

If Baseball were like School, no one would play...

I've Got Some Extra Weight...

I have been back from Africa for more than a few days now, and it is baffling how much baggage we all carry even after all of our luggage is unpacked. There are some items that no matter how often you put it away and no matter how much you think it’s out of your luggage, it’s still right where you left it- in your heart and on your mind. You can’t unpack a new perspective on life, but you can enjoy carrying it with you wherever you go.

There are little things and there are big things, but one thing is for certain- there are tons of things (and of course, when I go back to teaching, I will teach my students to use a word once in a sentence). Lights really did amaze me when I first got back. I was walking at a local festival and it hit me hard that in Kenya a light up Ferris wheel and an ATM in the middle of a parking lot wouldn’t happen. I stopped to wonder what the local families were doing without their Ferris wheels and ATMs. Were they sitting around their tables laughing and starting a candle for a little light in a dark hut? When I went to go buy groceries, it hit me doubly hard that any choice of fruit or vegetable was mine to be had (in Kabula, limited doesn’t begin to describe fruit and vegetable choices) and the cool air coming out of open air refrigerators would’ve been a welcome whisper in a place where electricity was harder to find than Oreo cookies. I stopped again to wonder what the local families were doing without their cantaloupes and free “air conditioning.” Were they eating their bananas and sitting outside with the stars? Throwing away paper has been, believe it or not, the most heartbreaking piece of carry-on luggage that I tote around with myself. To even put a piece in the recycling bin slows my hand to such a speed that I almost think it will stop before it gets there. I stop to wonder what the kids are doing at school without copied worksheets. Are they copying down words from the board into their notebooks because there are no such machines to do the work for them?

And then I realize that yes, they are lighting up dark rooms, eating with the stars, and manually Xeroxing. We are all going on with life- in America with our lights and refrigerators and in Kenya with their candles and limited fruit choices. And, even though we are all still ‘going on,’ one thing is for certain- that extra baggage that I am carrying with me from Kenya? It’s a welcome weight to carry.

My Last Few Days in Africa

I've been warned to be careful while (or, as I've learned from my new British friends- whilst) in Africa. I've been warned to watch for pickpocketing, to watch for people trying to charge me more than necessary, to keep my passport safe, to not wear expensive jewelry, to not travel alone or at night. I've pretty much been cautioned, in a thousand different ways with a thousand different words, that the only safe place is my hut, with the door locked, under my mosquito net, with loads of DEET covering any exposed skin. The thousand words of warning have stuck with me, but what has struck me more has been the universal language that exists everywhere in the world- the universal language of a smile and a wave.

After nearly every corner I turn here in Kenya, there has been a smiling face with a waving hand not too far off. When a bit of homesickness finds its way into my daily routine, and my heart seems fragile, there is such comfort in knowing that we all share the ability to connect and welcome someone who is completely different from us. While I have yet to get pick-pocketed or have any jewelry stolen from me, I have spoken to many people without using any words and have felt a little piece home thousands of words and miles away.

It's hard not to imitate the child whose eyes grow larger when they see me and a slow smile spreads across his face while a hand pops up to accompany the smile. I can't help but be the mirror image- that's the power of language.

It's hard not to feel safer when someone I don't know smiles, waves, and lets me know that I'm okay here and I'm welcome here- despite the fact that it's not my home. I can't help but feel comforted- again, that's the power of language.

So, as I leave Kenya, I know I will always carry these things in my wallet- even if they are the only items in there. A smile makes you look like a million bucks anyways.

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So, maybe I have become used to long drops (Kenyan toilets), maybe I have become used to not having running water for a shower, maybe I have become used to DEET saturating my skin 24/7, but I am finding that things here aren't that difficult- just different. The food, the language, the transportation, the culture- different, not extremely difficult, just different. And, embracing the different- rather than going against- has proved invaluable. Embracing isn't just a lesson for Kenya or a lesson for travelling, it is a lesson for life.

I've learned how to embrace (what is locally referred to as) "African Time." Meetings are to start at 9:00 AM? Don't get upset when they start at 11:30. People are visting with thier families, taking time to develop relationships and listen, rather than rushing through a morning routine and shouting, "Hurry up, we're late!" as they scramble out the door without pausing to hear a response. "African Time" has reminded me that when it is well spent, it doesn't matter what the clock says, just what your actions do.

I've learned to embrace the children proclaiming, "Myzungo! (White person!)" and stopping to talk to you on your way to catch the bus to town. A piece of candy, a "How are you? I'm fine." verbal exchange, and a few dances and songs later- along with them wanting to touch your skin and hair- remind me that embracing thier curiosity is what childhood and life are all about.

So often, when ideas are different or foreign to us, we reject them, runaway from them, or question thier validity. I've come to realize that embracing is a universal language that is spoken and welcome anywhere. I plan on carrying it with me wherever I go. There are wants in life, comforts in life, and necessities. Embracing is a necessity.