I am currently sitting in the house of which I will be serving for the next 2 years. This house is known as the ‘princess – house’ among the Peace Corps Volunteers, and I have to say that I wholeheartedly agree with that statement. This house is a mere minute walk away from where I will be working  – the Kaaga School for the Hearing Impaired (the name irks me, yes.) The house also boasts electricity and hot running water, both of which are something of a rare commodity in Kenya. Yes, I have hot water. And to think that I would be serving the next 2 years having to boil water before every shower the way my host family in Machakos does for me every morning. Relief. The house has a shamba, kiswahili for garden, small enough to manage effortlessly but large enough to actually plant 3 of anything my little heart desires. Well, if I can call it planting? The locals say that they simply throw seeds onto theground and it will grow. A bit difficult for my taker-trained brain to accept, especially after all thame I have spent on maintaining the garden and its soil, but I welcome the omission of preparing the soil.  In addition, there are two bedrooms and a fairly large living room. The weather in Meru is thankfully not humid but when the r ainy season comes, like the one we are in the middle of at the moment, it pours. Yesterday, I walked to one of the classes and would have been nearly soaked if it weren’t for my raincoat.

I could not believe what I saw when I entered the classroom. The day’s schedule was written out on the black chalkboard, which I’m not even sure qualifies as a real chalkboard because it looks almost as if it is just a section of the wall that has been painted black. It is aproximately 9:15am, and the English teacher should be in the classroom teaching. There is no one in the classroom save the children. I immediately notice the kids’ eyes light up at our entrance. “We learn now?”, signed one of the smaller children in the room. I nearly retraced my steps out the door immediately to shroud the pain I was feeling in the pit of my stomach. Schoolchildren in America would have a field day had the teacher not come for the day, but not here. Some of the teachers do not show up to their classes for more than 10 lessons in an entire term.

One of the teachers, whom the current PCV states to be one of the better teachers here, asked for me to prepare a lesson pertaining to the immune system for this afternoon. I did my best under the time constraints and I could already see the children responding in a way the teacher said they would not normally. I believe that having a deaf teacher makes a world of a difference in the instruction of deaf students and I am happy to become the first one in these kids’ lives. Tomorrow, I meet that same teacher and show him the Kenyan Sign Language CD I was given. I hope my relationship with this teacher grows into something where I can become an influence in the school.

Today was also the first time that I truly missed home. It hit me in waves after teaching my first English class, which was substantially worse than the math class I taught yesterday, until I just had a moment where I had to run to the choo (toilet) just be by myself. I miss you, friends. I truly hope that some of you will be able to come visit and see all that I have. My door is always open, even to the unexpected! Looking forward to moving up here from Machakos in January after swearing in as a Peace Corps Volunteer in December.

Love.