There's Been A Change of Plans

There are many times in life when I’ve had to fully accept a notion and let it go at the same time. An ironic statement when you consider that we must allow an idea into our hearts just to release it moments later. Acceptance so one can release- a concept so easy to read, but so difficult to execute. It seems as if once an idea or ‘way of life’ has carved a nook into our hearts, we think of that residence as permanent- a home that cannot be moved. Do we as humans not travel? Live in different areas, apartments, houses, cities, countries? Why is it that the body can move with such ease from place to place, but the notions of life living in our hearts cannot?

I’ve recently realized a resident in my own heart that has since moved away- the idea of planning life. Life cannot be planned. Amidst meetings, conferences, plan times, and calendar dates, I’ve seen the destruction of a well-planned life. As a teacher, I needed to get certain chapters done by certain dates- it was planned, it was on my calendar! Did we get through the chapters? Absolutely. Did learning occur? Sure. However, if I had taken advantage of what was directly in front of me rather than focused on the dates directly ahead of me, life would have occurred, and isn’t that more relevant?

If Mondays are for meetings, Tuesdays are for duties, Wednesdays are for planning, Thursdays are for discussing, Fridays are for conferences, Saturdays are for gathering, and Sundays are for errands, what day is for life?

I’ve glanced at my calendar and my clock, and realize I’m not on track for my Narrative, and I am accepting of that because I’ve realized that’s why it’s called a deadline because with those, life cannot live.

A Year Ago Today

About a year ago today, I wrote in my diary (yes, I still keep a diary!), “It’s official, I am going to Africa. Everything is under way. I feel like I should be excited, but I am scared- like deeply frightened. The kind of fear where your ribs hug your lungs too tightly and you can’t get enough air.” And later, “What if this is the biggest mistake of my life? What if something happens? What if I get hurt? I just need to be fearless."

I can remember the “don’t-s” that others told me; the “Are you sure-s?” the “What about-s...” and “What if-s...” I can remember self-doubt, others adding cards to this deck and it doubling in size. I can remember the feeling, and I can remember it being nearly paralyzing. I can also remember realizing something else.

Fearless is not the absence of fear. Fearless is walking up to your trepidation, taking it by the hand and bringing it with you wherever you go. Fearless is not only the company of fear, but the welcome company of fear. When changes are coming or the unknown looms overhead, it is not only hope that we should bring with us, it is not only knowledge we should bring with us, it is fear. To face what can hold so many of us back, that is fearless. When fear is your best friend, that is fearless. When you stand on your tippy-toes to look fear in the eye and then laugh, you are fearless.

As lesson not yet fully digested as I entered the airport with my ribs choking my lungs again, but a lesson learned fully later because in all reality, we must face our fears, so we can make our fear...less.

And my last sentence from a year ago, which will never be old advice no matter how many years pass, “So I guess I’ll circle in all the hope that light brings in, but I’ll also keep in mind that darkness can bring good with it too.”

I’m out to go be fearless.

Things to Keep in Mind

As a teacher, I wear many hats. I am a teacher, a mother, a role model, an enemy, a friend, an innovator, a lie detector, a referee, an actor, a liar, a performer, an entertainer, a listener, a reporter, a comedian, an observer, a tracker, a babysitter, and many others (if I wanted to list them all, it would be the whole blog!)

Sometimes, though, to be so far involved in so many activities, I forget to remember. I was writing just the other day when I remembered to...well...remember. So for all the teachers out there- you may not agree with all of these reminders, but hopefully you'll find one that you can keep in the big, black school bag you lug around (full of papers, grading pens, and clips of course!) with you all week.

*Remember to keep the positive attitude that has gotten you much further than any previous negative one.

*Remember patience is key! You too were once an unknowing 13 year old and not an all knowing and experienced adult.

*Remember to find out the entire story before jumping to conclusions.

*Remember that they are just kids and it felt like it all flew by and went too fast, so let them be kids.

*Remember they have the rest of their lives to be adults, so let them relish in their childhood and garnish it with the immaturity and curiosity that so many of us adults forget to dine on daily.

*Remember the movie "Big" and its message- we all want to grow up and then we get there...

*Remember it's just middle school.

*Remember life is bigger and more important.

*Remember relationships matter. They will remember how you treated them and what you meant to them for much longer than they will remember when to use 'raise' and 'rise.'

*Remember how you make a child feel will effect their life and matter more than spelling "your" correctly.

*Remember who you are so they know who they can be.

*Remember what it was like to be 13 (everyone is watching you, it's always a big deal, etc.), remember that you were the same way, and let them be 13.

*Remember that you loudly sang lyrics to dirty songs that you had no idea were dirty lyrics.

*Remember that you laughed at 'gross' words (and sometimes still do).

*Remember that at 13 your life seemed impossibly busy and complicated, at 18 it seemed even more impossibly busy and complicated, and at 25 it got even worse. They are busy and their lives are complicated- it's just on a scale for a 13 year old.

*Remember you made poor choices too but you turned out just fine.

*Remember that as long as they learn something, you're doing your job.

*Think of what middle school teachers you remember and why you remember them and decided what you want to be remembered for.

No one said it would be easy, but a ton did say that it would be worth it. I'll back that statement up with gold.

Tickling My Nose

It's funny what hope does to us...or what hopes gives and takes from us. Sometimes it's just what you need and there right when you need it. Sometimes it's our Achilles' Heel that leaves us standing lonely and bewildered like a tricked child.

I think the most interesting aspect of hope is when it latches itself onto change. In some ways, hope for change is the blind leading the blind. Neither one of you knows what's coming, but you'll take each other there anyway.

I do think that your outlook on hope (especially when it's tagging along with change) reveals a lot about the roots of your personality. When change and hope show up at your front door, are you slamming the door shut because you don't invite hope in to help you see what could be? Are you opening the door a little too widely and letting hope into the dustiest corners of your house, leaving nothing to the imagination? For those with the positive outlook on life, your door is always open and hope is always welcome. For those with the negative outlook, hope probably walks right on by and knows not to try to sell its Girl Scout Cookies to your house.

Either way, change is going to show up time and time again- and usually as an uninvited guest- so what do you do with hope? Do you walk in the darkness with a grin on your face, relief in your heart, and hope laced between your fingers? Do you have a partner on the journey? Or, do you walk in the darkness with a furrowed brow, fear in your heart, and hope no where to be seen? Do you walk alone on your journey?

I've decided this. I am going to water my roots, keep them positive, and bring hope with me. Sometimes I might lose sight of it. Sometimes it will run away from me. Sometimes I'll really have to look hard for it. But, you want to know what- I know I'll never lose it, because I won't give up hope on finding it.

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.

There has been a BLOWOUT!

Literally, a blowout.

So, we went on safari this past weekend (I will post my thoughts on these adventures after I come back. Reflection on these take time) and I wanted to look good for all of the pictures we would be taking while on safari (can one still be vain in Kenya? Yes, just ask Dan and Hugo). Of course we wouldn't be taking pictures of all the amazing animals we would be seeing on safari (including lions eating zebras, cheetahs, elephants, giraffes, the wildebeest migration), we would be taking pictures of the group, so I needed to look my best for this massive photo shoot.

So, I went to the local salon- ha ha ha, yes, the local salon in Bungoma- and got a blowout. This was by far one of my favorite times in Kenya. I walked in and told the woman I would like her to wash and blowdry my hair. She nearly fell to her knees thanking the Heavens for such an "opportunity." I blowdry my hair often in the States and don't feel quite the same way about this "opportunity." Chore/hassle might be a better choice of words for my blowdrying.

She immediately brought me to the backroom, took out my ponytail holder and petted- I am not kidding with this verb; it is the PERFECT description- my hair. Then, she told me she would disinfect the sink for a myzungo. As I was waiting for her to do this, 3 other women came in to see and touch my hair. Here is the converstaion:
Woman: "Why is your hair different colors?"
Me: "Oh, I dye it back at home."
Woman: "All myzungos don't have blonde hair?"
Me: "Hahaha! Well, not naturally."
Woman: "How do you get it blonde?"
Me: "I use peroxide."
All Women: "Hahhahahaaa! On your hair??! Oh my! Oh my!!"
Woman: "Why do you have hair in the front of your head?"
Me: "You mean my bangs?"
Woman: "Yes, why do you have bangs? Those are...hmmm."
Me: "They are in style in the States."
All Women: "Oh! Oh! In style! Okay! Bangs then!"
Woman: "Why do you have a bob haircut and then long hair? Why is there short hair in the middle of your head and long hair underneath that?"
Me: "My layers? That is so I have body in my hair."

Then, everyone touched my layers. They also wanted me to get braids (called plaits out here) and they wanted to be the ones to braid it. I lifted my bangs and informed them of my large forehead (and, by the way, this means I have a large brain...).

So, I went to the sink and it was DISINFECTED! There was so much Pine-Sol used I was worried it would damage my hair. After three shampoos and one deep conditioner treatment (and quite the intense scalp scrubbing!), I went to the back for the blowout. I brought my own bristle round brush for the stylist to use. She took the brush to "comb out" my hair after she washed it. More-or-less, she raked through my hair and then took out a blowdryer with a comb device attached. She disinfected that with a liquid and then used it (rather than the brush...) to blowdry my hair. When she was done, my hair was parted on the wrong side and I had no bangs- they had been brushed back in a combover-like fashion behind my ears. Otherwise, the look was perfect! :)

I showed her how I normally fixed my hair and she sat me back down when I was done. She asked if she could use oil on my hair. I said no. She asked if she could use spray oil on my hair. I said no. She asked if she could use olive oil on my hair (apparenlty different from regular oil). I said no. She asked if she could use spray olive oil on my hair (apparently different from regular oil, regular spray oil, and olive oil). I said no. She asked if she could set my hair then spray it. I said no. She really wanted to coat my hair. I said no. She gave up.

So, for 4.00 USD, I experienced my first Kenyan blowout. I hope the lions liked my mane.