This isn't going to be short, so for the faint of patience, feel free to read only the beginning and end. Brevity never was the soul of my wit, and besides, I was never very witty. But what this will be is honest. I never was big on glorifying people or projects for the sake of good PR; diplomacy was more my strong suit. I hope this will be neither glorified nor diplomatic, but honest, true and simple.
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They said Kenya would likely be life changing. I don't know if that's true, because my life hasn't been all that long since then, so the comparison is difficult. But clichés aside, Kenya was special, and it was important.
I had never been to a slum before Kenya. Kibera is enormous. Over 1 million people live there, which makes it a strong rival for Soweto, South Africa, if not the largest slum in Africa. That might sound like the intro for a charity drive, but that's not what Kibera taught me. Kibera is not just a slum, it's a city. There are people, homes, electricity, law courts, cars and infrastructure just like any other. The only question is one of degree. I'm told that virtually every home in Kibera has a television. But the roads aren't paved. Yes, sanitation is a problem. No, not everyone is dying of AIDS.
It's hard to pin down Kibera, but it's safe to say that it is a city - a poor city, but a city all the same. And that means that there are people, families, and communities. And people are getting by. Does that mean that they don't need our help? Did they ever need our help? And what do we really mean by help?
I didn't go to Kenya to help. I went to Kenya to learn. I knew that. And here's what I learned:
I learned that the students I worked with are amazing. They're smart, talented, funny, shy, outgoing, hard-working, and don't like homework just like any other student. They were there to learn, to start businesses, to get funding, to support their families, to support themselves, to get out of Kibera and to stay in Kibera and help their community. Whatever their reason, whatever motive, what they wanted was more than what they had now, and they came looking for it.
I don't know what they got. I know they got workbooks. And for the majority of them, they got a complete seminar on how to write decent business plans, and so long as they completed the homework, they got a solid working draft. And the ones that came out with us on our last night, they got a couple of drinks, too. So to each their own. At the very least, they all learned something. Isn't that what any teacher can only hope for? That their students retained something? Our students did.
Did they all get funding? Did any of them get funding? I don't know, and to be perfectly honest, that's what keeps me up at night. That we went to Kenya, and we taught a three-week course, and most of them came every day, and many of them completed thorough business plans - already we asked the sun, moon, and stars - and that we then deserted them. Some of my students had business plans that would have pleased any venture capitalist. Others needed coaching, but with time and education, they could have made it. And just between those, all of my students could have been employed. I don't know where we are anymore, and that's no-one's fault, but that's a question that needs to be answered. Therein lies the future of this program.
Three months later, and I'm still processing what it is that I got. My only hope is that my processing isn't the act of forgetting - two worlds away seems more dreamlike than one. But at least I know that I learned. I had never co-taught a three-week class before, and I learned that teaching is a labour of love. I learned how to put together a cash-flow statement, and thanks to my finance partner-in-crime, I now know the difference between that and an income statement in the absence of accounts receivable. I learned that Nairobi is a complicated city, and that Kenya is a breathtaking country. And I learned that between people, between language barriers and cultural differences and economics and politics, that students are students, youth are youth, and between soccer and drinking and dating and laughter, it's really very easy to connect. I connected. And I miss my students.
So maybe I'm white. And upper-middle class, and privileged to hell, and maybe that complicates things. Maybe they respected me more, or less, or felt more intimidated, or less. I don't know, and I do care. In the world of responsible development, microfinancing and global relations, it makes a big difference. I think we did the best we could, given the time, energy and resources we had. But it's not over. If we want to talk about responsible development, we have to acknowledge that we went to Kenya, taught a course, and in whatever way, we gave our students more hope than they started with. We gave them the expectation that they were coming to learn, and not for nothing. So if we truly want to be responsible, we need to see that we started something, and we have the responsibility to see it through. That's responsible development.
So if given the chance, I'm going back to Kenya. This program needs a follow-up, and a follow-through, and I would love to be a part of that. If anything, my experience with SE101-Kenya has kindled a drive, and shown me that the opportunity to make change exists, we just need to take it.
Shout-outs to the Team, our co-teachers from Daystar and Ebony, and the students of Kibera - you were the real teachers.
KK.
Posted by Kevin Keystone
