the language of dance
At the age of three, Grace started dancing at North Vancouver's Pro Arte dance school. Back then, it was one 45-minute class each week. Grace in a red leotard with skirt attached. Twirling around, learning the basics, inspired by the talent and beauty of the older dancers at the school. Seven years later, she dances 14 hours a week in Ballet, Modern, Contemporary, Lyrical and Acro. Graceful, hard working and poised - benefitting from years of training.
In preparing for our visit to Jipe Moyo, Anke asked if Grace could share her love of ballet and classical music. Hearing of this, my friend, Sonja Abma (a former dancer and superb seamstress) offered to make dress-up tutus for the girls. A journey out to a fabric store on 41st and Fraser in East Vancouver, and we had purchased realms of tulle in four gorgeous pastel colours, jewels and 42 metres of white ribbon. Taking the material home, Sonja returned five days later with 20 perfect little tutus.
Adding a few ballet books, classical CDs, and donating her battery-operated CD player, Grace had all the supplies necessary to share dance. But still, we wondered how best to approach it. Unlike children playing soccer with Spencer, these girls would never have seen ballet, nor any trained dancers. Classical music would be completely foreign. And while Grace would give a short performance, how could these young 8 and 9 year old girls follow? Modest, sheltered and deeply religious, would they even be willing to change into leotards before attaching the tutus? Might they be shy, confused, overwhelmed?
On the day of her second visit to Jipe Moyo, Grace arrived in a bright blue leotard. Smiling encouragingly at her 19 young protégés, she chose a pale blue tutu and demonstrated how to tie it up in the back. Selecting a track of music, she started to dance. Graceful arms, legs, jetes and arabesques, the students and teachers applauded. Showing the girls there was a large bin containing leotards and tutus for each one them, we asked if they wanted to change.
On the day of her second visit to Jipe Moyo, Grace arrived in a bright blue leotard. Smiling encouragingly at her 19 young protégés, she chose a pale blue tutu and demonstrated how to tie it up in the back. Selecting a track of music, she started to dance. Graceful arms, legs, jetes and arabesques, the students and teachers applauded. Showing the girls there was a large bin containing leotards and tutus for each one them, we asked if they wanted to change.
Wow! Dresses flew through the air as the girls tossed off their uniforms. We helped each girl into a leotard, attached their tutu and added a floral wrist 'corsage.' These little girls had no idea what ballet was, but they were positive they liked the look!😊 We circulated a mirror. The first time ever these girls had seen themselves.
Creating a circle from which to teach, Grace showed how to place the feet in first position. The girls followed. How to properly hold the arms. Next, a plié. Second, third, fourth and fifth position. Praising the girls, Grace asked for a track of music. We held our breath.
Tchaikovsky filled the classroom. Grace began slowly, lifting her arms. Nineteen, slender pairs of ebony arms raised. Up on tip toes; 19 little ballerinas followed. As Grace moved -- a plié, a turn, moving through position one through five, the girls followed. Gorgeous, sweet and innocent. Not a dry eye in the classroom from any of the adults.
Tchaikovsky filled the classroom. Grace began slowly, lifting her arms. Nineteen, slender pairs of ebony arms raised. Up on tip toes; 19 little ballerinas followed. As Grace moved -- a plié, a turn, moving through position one through five, the girls followed. Gorgeous, sweet and innocent. Not a dry eye in the classroom from any of the adults.
The teachers asked the girls to share ballet with the rest of the school. Grace led her little dancers out onto the front verandah where the entire school had assembled. The girls gave a beautiful performance to a loud round of applause. And then leading her girls in a deep curtsy - Grace shared the ballet form of 'thank you.'
Dance: a universal language.
Dance: a universal language.
sustainability
When Loring and I set out to raise funds for a new kitchen at Jipe Moyo Nursery School, we frequently heard the term 'sustainability.' Essentially, it means investing in a community in the exact right way so that the people who live there are able to sustain themselves - grow and prosper - ultimately on their own. And it's the most desired outcome for all development projects.
The community of Kaliang'ombe where Jipe Moyo is located is extremely poor. Most people live in mud huts with no running water, plumbing, or electricity. Meals are meagre and infrequent. One in five children are orphans. But the local people have self initiative and a tremendous work ethic. They are prepared to work very hard to create a better future. This makes them an ideal community for the investment necessary to achieve sustainability.
In the three short weeks I have been in Kenya, I have witnessed the demolition of the old mud hut kitchen and worked with my friend, Anke and our contractor, Lucas, to map out a new one.
And in the six days since Loring, Spencer and Grace have arrived, we have watched a new kitchen being built.
Because of the generosity of our friends and family, who pushed the total well past our original target, the new kitchen is much larger than the previous one - a spacious 15' x 17'. It has a vaulted ceiling, improved ventilation, double Jiko (wood cooktops), storage and double sinks. We have also been able to bring electricity - not only to the kitchen but to the entire school. Jipe Moyo will be the first buildings with electricity for the entire community. This is not just a giant step forward for the school, but for all the residents of Kaliang'ombe
We are also installing a 1,000 litre water tank with water lines to the kitchen and will add a fan and even a small fridge in the new kitchen. The local women's group are in awe of the kitchen they are about to have for the school children.
And it keeps getting better. When Eric Rajah, the head of A Better World Canada toured the school three weeks ago, he was so impressed by the school and the work ethic of the local women's group, that he funded a geological study to determine the viability of a well. If the results are promising, drilling will commence with the hopes of getting a direct water source for the school and importantly, for the crops that are grown on school grounds.
Water, food and education. The building blocks for sustainability. Our family has been able to witness tremendous progress in our three weeks in Kenya. We are profoundly grateful for the generosity of our friends and family. This new kitchen, the electricity and water tank exist because of you. Thank you.
We are also installing a 1,000 litre water tank with water lines to the kitchen and will add a fan and even a small fridge in the new kitchen. The local women's group are in awe of the kitchen they are about to have for the school children.
And it keeps getting better. When Eric Rajah, the head of A Better World Canada toured the school three weeks ago, he was so impressed by the school and the work ethic of the local women's group, that he funded a geological study to determine the viability of a well. If the results are promising, drilling will commence with the hopes of getting a direct water source for the school and importantly, for the crops that are grown on school grounds.
Water, food and education. The building blocks for sustainability. Our family has been able to witness tremendous progress in our three weeks in Kenya. We are profoundly grateful for the generosity of our friends and family. This new kitchen, the electricity and water tank exist because of you. Thank you.
the beautiful game
Our 16-year son, Spencer, is a soccer-nut. Constantly dribbles a mini-ball around the house; gets up early on Saturdays to watch the English Premier League; and never misses a Vancouver Whitecaps Game. He loves to play soccer with the kids who live on our cul-de-sac, and last year, created his own soccer camps next door in Kilmer Park. To him, soccer is not just a beautiful game... it's the only game😊
In planning our trip to Jipe Moyo, we wanted to tap into our kid's interests and talents. In the case of Spencer, there was never a doubt it would be soccer. Or in the case of young Kenyan children, football. Armed with authentic FIFA World Cup soccer balls, cones and pinnies, he took to the dusty, rock-strewn field at Jipe Moyo in blazing 38 degree temperature.
Teaching a few passing drills, designating teams and the game was on! The girls playing as hard as the boys, most of the kids shoeless, these 8 and 9-year olds played with reckless abandon -- their joy infectious. The beautiful game.
lost in (cultural) translation
Anke and I have both renovated our homes. Multiple times. We've worked with general contractors, construction workers, electricians and plumbers. She is German; precise and methodical, with loads of common sense. I too am precise; detailed-oriented with at least one 'A' in my personality:) We know want we want built, how to communicate and how to get it done. But as we break ground on the Jipe Moyo kitchen, I am quickly learning that things can easily get lost in translation.
It's not just about the language. In fact, Lucas, our Kenyan contractor, speaks fairly decent English. He is intelligent, manages a hard-working team, and has proven himself a good builder on previous projects for Anke. But he is unable to follow us as we conceptualize, collaborate and problem solve on the kitchen design -- largely because these are 21st learning skills taught in Canadian classrooms and practiced daily in our society. Sadly, the vast majority of Kenyan teaching is based on rote (repetitive) learning, memorization and mind-numbing hours spent behind a wooden school desk. Students cannot question, challenge, or even think beyond the required memorization. Caning is done for failure and disobedience. The primary years culminate in a Grade 8 exam similar to the SAT. It's a very difficult test and a defining moment for these young students: their score publicly shared and dictating what, if any, high school they can attend, and what career paths may be open. For many, this test is the end of their education.
Anke is changing this. At least for the 120 (soon to be 200) students at Jipe Moyo. While still covering the Kenyan public school curriculum, she has layered on essential 21st learning skills. Children are taught to question, analyze and work as a team. They come to school each day because they love it. Their smiles are wide and laughter rings out. And very soon, they will have a new kitchen.
Switching gears with Lucas, Anke and I borrow two sticks of chalk and draw out the entire kitchen on the floor of one of the new, unfinished classrooms. We measure out the exterior and interior walls, draw the (inward) swinging door, position the windows for optimum viewing and cross-breeze, mark the counter width and height, and map out storage and an extra large area for the 'Jiko' charcoal cooking area. It is spacious, functional and vetted by the women who cook for the students. Lucas does a walk through, we encourage his questions and fine-tune the design. Official plans are drawn up and we break ground!
It's not just about the language. In fact, Lucas, our Kenyan contractor, speaks fairly decent English. He is intelligent, manages a hard-working team, and has proven himself a good builder on previous projects for Anke. But he is unable to follow us as we conceptualize, collaborate and problem solve on the kitchen design -- largely because these are 21st learning skills taught in Canadian classrooms and practiced daily in our society. Sadly, the vast majority of Kenyan teaching is based on rote (repetitive) learning, memorization and mind-numbing hours spent behind a wooden school desk. Students cannot question, challenge, or even think beyond the required memorization. Caning is done for failure and disobedience. The primary years culminate in a Grade 8 exam similar to the SAT. It's a very difficult test and a defining moment for these young students: their score publicly shared and dictating what, if any, high school they can attend, and what career paths may be open. For many, this test is the end of their education.
Anke is changing this. At least for the 120 (soon to be 200) students at Jipe Moyo. While still covering the Kenyan public school curriculum, she has layered on essential 21st learning skills. Children are taught to question, analyze and work as a team. They come to school each day because they love it. Their smiles are wide and laughter rings out. And very soon, they will have a new kitchen.
Switching gears with Lucas, Anke and I borrow two sticks of chalk and draw out the entire kitchen on the floor of one of the new, unfinished classrooms. We measure out the exterior and interior walls, draw the (inward) swinging door, position the windows for optimum viewing and cross-breeze, mark the counter width and height, and map out storage and an extra large area for the 'Jiko' charcoal cooking area. It is spacious, functional and vetted by the women who cook for the students. Lucas does a walk through, we encourage his questions and fine-tune the design. Official plans are drawn up and we break ground!
the importance of play
In the summer of 2009, when our daughter, Grace turned 5, we gave her a bucket of colourful play beads. Packed with over 500 plastic beads in a kaleidoscope of colours and many fun shapes. Called 'Pop Beads,' they were hollow inside but with two ends that could connect and 'pop' into one another. Grace spent the entire summer creating fantastical jewelry creations; necklaces, headdresses, finger rings, toe rings and bracelets. Everyone by the Predator pool that summer, sported something from the Gracie Collection😊
After many years of enjoyment, the bucket was passed along to other children on Page Road, most of the original 500 accounted for and still in mint condition. Three weeks before leaving, I came across Pop Beads in a store. Would the children of Jipe Moyo enjoy them as much as Grace had? Would the boys partake as much as the girls? Buying the three buckets they had, I carefully wrapped the containers in bubble wrap and added to my suitcase. |
Have a look at the joy and creativity on day one of Pop Beads😊
the best gift I ever gave
Today, I made a grown man cry. Or to be more accurate, I made us both cry...☺️ The gentleman's name is Hamisi, and he is the Grade 1/2 teacher at Jipe Moyo. I met him two days earlier on my first trip to the school. On that day, the teachers had given me a detailed tour of their classrooms. They showed me their teaching supplies and learning resources which were incredibly and sadly sparse. A small amount of broken crayons, used books, very little posters or wall charts. And yet, the children's workbooks were well organized by subject (mathematics, spelling, social studies, etc.) with careful, neat printing filling the pages. I toured the two classrooms and then went outdoors to the Grade 1/2 class which was being held in the outdoor covered sandbox until the new classrooms are completed.
Imagine a large concrete well w a mud floor; students seated on Dollar Store plastic chairs, workbooks neatly stacked on the ledge of the sandbox, held in place with rocks. While the other teachers had meagre teaching resources, this class pretty much had nothing other than a very old chalkboard that looked like it had been run over by a car. The wood border was cracked, the board had an actual hole in it and the surface was faded and worn. The teacher was Hemessi. He was kind, intelligent and soft-spoken. And as a male teacher, such an important role model for the young boys of the school.
'Hamisi,' I said. 'That is not a good chalkboard. We need to get you something better!' He smiled and laughed. 'I will bring you a new one next time I come to Jipe Moyo,' I promised.
Imagine a large concrete well w a mud floor; students seated on Dollar Store plastic chairs, workbooks neatly stacked on the ledge of the sandbox, held in place with rocks. While the other teachers had meagre teaching resources, this class pretty much had nothing other than a very old chalkboard that looked like it had been run over by a car. The wood border was cracked, the board had an actual hole in it and the surface was faded and worn. The teacher was Hemessi. He was kind, intelligent and soft-spoken. And as a male teacher, such an important role model for the young boys of the school.
'Hamisi,' I said. 'That is not a good chalkboard. We need to get you something better!' He smiled and laughed. 'I will bring you a new one next time I come to Jipe Moyo,' I promised.
A promise is a promise, but as I learned the next day, finding a chalkboard in Mombasa was impossible. So next I tried to track down a white board. A much nicer surface to write on and could be hung in one of the new classrooms once completed. Anke called around to various stores and contacts and finally found one that could be transferred to a nearby store. On the big box, we inscribe 'To Hamisi: For your outdoor classroom until you move into the new school" and added a tiny red bow.
Ninety minutes on the dusty, bumpy backroad to Jipe Moyo. I leaped from the car, so excited. Hamisi was teaching, saw me approach, saw the large box. He stepped up out of the converted sandbox. Read the inscription. His eyes watered; my eyes watered. He was shaky; as was I. Truly, he could not believe that a present had been brought just for him.
Ninety minutes on the dusty, bumpy backroad to Jipe Moyo. I leaped from the car, so excited. Hamisi was teaching, saw me approach, saw the large box. He stepped up out of the converted sandbox. Read the inscription. His eyes watered; my eyes watered. He was shaky; as was I. Truly, he could not believe that a present had been brought just for him.
Carefully, he opened the box and marvelled that it also contained four markers and some magnets. We propped the new white board on the side of the sandbox while his students excitedly read the the note on the box to him. Writing 'Thank Madam Lynda' on the new board, Hamisi led his class in a thank you clapping routine which culminates with the students 'tossing' blessings in my direction.I felt very blessed indeed.
Anke and I headed off to visit with the other classrooms, but looked back once and noticed Hamisi was carefully putting the white board, the magnets and the markers back into its original box. I walked back.
'Hamisi,' I asked, "Why are you putting your new white board away? Do you not want to use it out here?" He explained. When we had arrived with his white board, half of his students had been in another classroom taking Christian studies while he was teaching Muslim studies to the rest of the class. "We are a community,' he said, smiling. "I wish to share the surprise again when all of my students are here. |
first visit to Jipe Moyo
Jambo! Hello! I am here; 27 hours of travel, 11 time zones, all my luggage missing once I got to Kenya. But I am safely here😊 After a surprisingly great first night's sleep, Anke and I were up and ready to head to Jipe Moyo Nursery School. I had seen photos for years, planned for months, organized and fundraised. And now I was actually on my way to the school!
The road from Mombasa to Jipe Moyo is very rough. And when I say rough... imagine potholes four feet in diameter, narrow dirt roads ( with very soft shoulders) shared with pedestrians (mostly shoeless) cattle, large trucks that leave you coughing on red-ish dust and other small vehicles all careening on a tight winding road.
The road from Mombasa to Jipe Moyo is very rough. And when I say rough... imagine potholes four feet in diameter, narrow dirt roads ( with very soft shoulders) shared with pedestrians (mostly shoeless) cattle, large trucks that leave you coughing on red-ish dust and other small vehicles all careening on a tight winding road.
Back to the pot-holes. Driving to Jipe Moyo is like an Atari course... You are constantly swerving to miss the giant potholes, and then some you just bump right through. Anke is German, she drives fast and expertly -- this is her local Autobahn. ' Have you ever gotten a flat tire,' I ask as we hit a particularly bone jarring hole. 'No, I've been lucky' she smiles. 'Uh...do you know how to change a tire?..." I ask cautiously. "I think so," smiles Anke. She laughs, "Enjoy the African massage!" Indeed, this is how driving on African back roads is known.
The countryside is beautiful, rolling hills, Palm trees and fairly green vegetation. Kenya fares much better in terms of rainfall compared to other parts of Africa. But it is very poor. Catastrophically poor. Imagine the poorest neighbourhood you may have ever seen in Mexico while on vacation and then multiply that many times. Homes are dotted sporadically along the route; homes that are no more than very small mud huts, most the size of a kid's playhouse. The walls are mud, and the floor is mud. The roof is rusty corrugated metal, tied together with plastic bags and small tarps.
Ninety minutes later and finally we pull up to Jipe Moyo. Dozens of smiling, laughing children rush towards our vehicle. They are chanting; one word over and over. I turned to Anke, 'Are they calling your name?' 'No,' she says, 'They are calling your name." And sure enough they were. These beautiful, joyful children were chanting Lynda over and over. I was overwhelmed.
Hugs and hellos, and then Anke and I were led to our seats of honour under the symbolic tree where the children first gathered for learning before the school was built. We were joined by Eric Rajah, the founder of A Better World Canada (who just happened to be touring their African projects and had made a special side trip to see Jipe Moyo) and Hemed Mukui, Anke's Kenyan friend and partner at the school.
Hugs and hellos, and then Anke and I were led to our seats of honour under the symbolic tree where the children first gathered for learning before the school was built. We were joined by Eric Rajah, the founder of A Better World Canada (who just happened to be touring their African projects and had made a special side trip to see Jipe Moyo) and Hemed Mukui, Anke's Kenyan friend and partner at the school.
Each of the four grade divisions (Junior Kindergarten to Grade 2) paraded out, one at a time, announced their division and then launched into songs and dances created special for our visit. Beautiful strong voices. Happy children. Jipe Moyo is truly a 'place of hope' - not only for the children but for the entire community.
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The Countdown - 3 days to go
Today, I washed teddy bears. My kid's Build-A-Bear teddies to be specific. Sounds like your average, run-of-the-mill mom activity. Except today, I learned a lot more about the average life cycle of stuffies.
I was skyping with Anke Jenkins, my girlfriend who is the Project Manager for Jipe Moyo Nursery School in Mombasa. When I told her I was washing the teddys, she laughed and walked her iPad to show me she too wash was washing old teddies from Jipe Moyo. These poor teddies looked like outcasts from Toy Story 3. Far from soft and fluffy, some had torn limbs, missing eyeballs, there was even a life-size doll head missing her body! "Wow," I said "Where did those come from?" And so she told me.
Once our children have outgrown their teddy bears, we usually save the ones we can't bear to part with. The rest typically get bagged up (in a garbage bag) and dropped off at the Salvation Army. These older teddies sit on the shelf for a year or two. Some go to new homes. The rest get shipped in containers to third world countries. And this is how people like Anke purchase a container (sight unseen) and get what's inside in whatever condition.
I've thought a lot about this today. And I've been down to the toy room a few more times to retrieve and wash stuffies. The Build-A-Bear clothes are laying nicely folded. And I've convinced my daughter to 'donate' half the room in her suitcase so the bears and their clothes can come to Africa.