Mzungu

I’m becoming more and more aware that this isn’t a one week – let’s stay in a hotel, be shuffled around on a bus, eat some yummy ethnic food, play with some cute kids – mission trip.  Please don’t get me wrong, I’ve been on those before and loved it.  I think that through Christ working in us we could all do a lot on a one week mission trip – or even a one day mission trip.  My point is this is getting really difficult.  The wonderfully safe and comfortable crutches of my own culture have been torn out from under me and it’s hard to walk (let alone run) without them.  I don’t have my cell phone to text my friends all day, I don’t have my delicious chocolate frosty from Wendy’s, I don’t have my warm bubble bath, I don’t even have my family.  Instead they’ve been replaced by cold showers from a jerrycan, dirt so thick under my fingernails there’s no point in trying, rice, rice, rice, and more rice, a hole that I have to squat over, really lazy and frustrating co-workers at school, and 1 and a half minute Skype sessions with home until the internet switches off.

Although it’s difficult at times, I wouldn’t trade this for anything.  It’s growing me more than anything else has before.  It was really hard to be dependent on God alone when I had so many other things in my life that could bring me peace and comfort.  Here – there’s nothing else but Him and His Living Word to turn to.  It’s exactly what I needed.

This is a picture of the “classroom” I teach in.  I’ve moved from the younger kids up to solely teaching kids that are 10-15.  Something I hadn’t experienced before and definitely wasn’t expecting.  The wall and roof are made of rusted metal sheets.  There are three different classrooms in one open section – walled in on only one side.  It’s difficult enough for me to concentrate on teaching as there are two teachers only five feet away from me teaching their own lesson.  You can only imagine how difficult it is for the students to pay attention.  Before we got here, there were absolutely no books for them to read (thanks Mom!) I still can’t figure out what they did during their “library” period a few weeks ago.  Instead of the Smartboards that I’ve been used to in my classrooms -they have one small chalkboard per class.  And by chalkboard I mean a piece of wood with a few holes on it painted black.  (Thanks so much for the colored chalk Mrs. D- it makes both teaching and learning a lot more fun!!) Instead of the individual desks decorated with the nameplates that most American students are blessed with – these students have two rows of wooden desks of and two rows of benches per classroom.  There isn’t enough room for more than four students on a row and we have usually seven per row unless someone is absent.  This makes the two sitting on the end have to write on their knees.  Something I’ve definitely never had to do during my 14 years of schooling so far.  Having only the resources that I brought with me has made teaching very frustrating.  I keep thinking of all the teachers I’ve heard complain about lacking resources in their own classroom.  Ha.  It’s called for a lot of creativity and inventiveness – trying to pull activities to compliment my lessons out of thin air. 

During the 7:00 a.m. – 5:00 p.m. school day we have a 30 minute break (in which we teachers “take” tea) and then a one and a half hour lunch break.   The first few days I was completely shocked to see most of  the students eat absolutely nothing throughout the entire day.  There are a few students who go home during lunch (I tell myself they go home to eat) and a few students who bring 100 shillings (which is about 5₵) to get a few sticks of cassava from the street. 

It is really painful seeing every day the dilapidated condition of my school, the horrible skin conditions of the neighborhood villagehood children, most of the people I’m living with suffering from either typhoid or malaria.   Sometimes helping hurts.  I know exactly what Mother Teresa (I think it was her) meant when she said, “Following Jesus is not easy.  Love until it hurts, and then love some more.”   

On a completely different note – everyone here is Muslim - the family that I’m living with, all of our neighbors, a lot of the people that come and visit here at the house.  Every few hours there is a loud call to prayer that plays throughout the entire town.  I want nothing more than to see Mama DuDu and her children to come to know Jesus.  Please be praying that I can show His love from the moment I get up to the moment I fall asleep.  I absolutely love the people I’ve met here. Sure I have acquaintances, but I also have friends, I also have family –right here in Busia.  It’s an amazing thing when people in poverty aren’t any longer a missions project but instead they become legitimate friends and family whom we eat with, dance with, laugh with, and even cry with.