With a sea of red uniforms, bald heads, and wide eyes in front of us, we find ourselves in yet another uncomfortable position- We’re supposed to entertain our 600 plus Kenyan students for the afternoon because they have given us their day to do whatever we want. Sweet Caroline, there’s one thing constant on this race, which is the fact that you’re never too comfortable for too long. We start by singing a song- yes, a cheesy God one- but it’s better than us just off key half humming some other one… at least this one has motions, which ensures laughter because mizungus can’t dance.
Six random Americans somehow get the privilege of running the school’s program for the day- I think it’s hilarious that we are the ones that get to share- who am I to have anything worthwhile for these kids? It’s just nuts. I have no clue what they go through or what they deal with- I can’t imagine struggling with some of the issues I’ve heard about in this community-such as female genital mutilation-mayday. So what do I have in this moment to tell a group of 13-15 year olds that can somehow encourage them where they’re at? The only thing I know to do is to do what I know to do…tell stories. I start out with my own and just tell the kids that if God can rescue me from such a mess, He can rescue them too- that He has a plan for their lives, and that He loves them. I feel like it’s the only thing I can do to semi-impact them and to give them hope- hope beyond what the world has to offer. Hope that there’s not just nothing after this life and that the things they face aren’t just for nothing either.
I’m thankful that every time this awkwardness happens-where I have no clue what to say or do, where I know I’m not enough and that I’m completely inadequate- God provides something…even if that means at least a million questions from my group of students-sweet caroline they asked me about everything under the sun, including if I would marry an African, if they could come to America and get a job, and if I knew the president of Swaziland’s name.
