Going Back to School – Kenya 2026, blog post #3

 Our first Monday morning in Kenya, still fighting jet lag, I set off with my two friends from Wisconsin and my three new friends from Italy, heading to the St Phillips Learning Center School, just around the corner from where we were staying.

The principal introduced us to the school, where there are classes for preschool through sixth grade. She showed us the different classrooms, but I didn’t want to go any further after I met the first graders. I don’t even know where my fellow volunteers ended up, other than Denise, who chose the kitchen.

All I know is that I fell in love with those rowdy little six-year-olds. Their classroom was cramped and only contained one bookcase, which was behind the teacher’s desk and was loaded down with the students’ workbooks. Along the walls, a backpack hung for each child, and they quickly found an empty hook for mine.

At snack time, they each pulled a snack from their backpack, whether it was two pieces of bread, a rolled up chapati, or a mandazi. A few of them offered me what meager food they had, but I pulled my own snack – a granola bar – out of my bag, and they laughed at me. I don’t know why; they laughed at me a lot. Besides serving lunch, my friend Denise delivered drinks for snack time. 

Recess time was utter chaos. In general, all the kids simply ran around, screaming, not really playing, just creating pandemonium, while the teachers stood in a huddle, talking and occasionally yelling at their students. I gathered my kidlets, instructing them to grab each other’s hands to make a big circle. Then we went in one direction, then the other. Then left foot in, then right foot in. And so on, until I thought I’d run out of ideas, but next thing I knew, we had our hands in the air and then we were skipping to the right and then to the left.

Our teacher kind of shook her head and maybe even rolled her eyes. But I did get the kids back in the room when the bell rang. (And nothing against their teacher; I know she was very appreciative of what little help I offered.)

And so the day went. We walked back to the volunteer house for lunch and a potty break, but returned as soon as we could. I also found out that they know how to play rock, paper, scissors. Sorry that I don't have any pictures of me with the kids. 

Before I knew it, it was nap time. And the only picture of me is of my lap. 

And after that, I walked back to our house, exhausted, but more content than I had been in a very long time.

This trip was meant to be in memory of my daughter Val, who loved Kenya and loved all the kids she met there. And they had all loved her back. During all my other trips, I never felt that connection with those little ones before. But on this trip, Val’s soul rode shotgun with mine and it was my baby girl who played with these kids all day.

Val with students from Southern Cross Academy in 2017