You laugh, you cry

This job with Nuru is fun and funny and challenging, but sometimes it can make you highly emotional as well. Like, in a good way. (Reminder -- if you can't remember what I am dong for Nuru, check out the "relevant links" on the right side of this page.)

I have only been here on the ground with the team for a few days, and already I have been moved several times. The first instance was yesterday, when I was interviewing the headmaster of the Nyametaburo Secondary School. We were asking about the level of interest and activity of parents of students in the secondary school. (One would think, right -- since so few students make it to this level of schooling (maybe like 10-20% (and fewer females)) -- that parents would be proud and excited, and eager to hear how their children were progressing.) The headmaster said to us, "before Nuru was here, the parents did not take any interest in their children's education. They had so much to worry about on the farm. But now that Nuru has come and helped them to learn to make an income or to feed their families with their maize, the parents have time for other things. They have time to have concern about their children's school." It was so unsolicited, and such a cool testament to Nuru's underlying principle -- that all aspects of poverty are connected. How can a parent focus on helping a child to study -- or even caring what happens at school during the day -- if that parent is so concerned about even feeding them a meal? And when a big step is made in one area, natural positive fallout occurs. It's what Nuru believes, and it is happening in both small and larger instances around the community.

The next two examples make me emotional because they illustrate the strong spirit of both the Americans here working for Nuru, as well as the Kenyan team we're working with. The first is that Nuru prays together every day. In the evening before the team dinner (we all live together in a small compound, so team dinner happens every night... nowhere else to go!), grace is said. We ask for help in the challenges faced in bettering the community and facing extreme poverty. At the start and conclusion of formal meetings with the Kenyans, a blessing or a prayer is said, asking for help in accomplishing the pretty major goals here. I know some of you anti-establishment, super-practical, agnostic friends of mine would balk at this. I would too, if, say, I was sitting on the 50th floor of a Manhattan office bldg. But here, it just seems right. Nobody here is promising the Kenyans that they should "believe" and their lives will just become better; rather, just the opposite -- Nuru gives nothing for free, gives no handouts. But everyone needs strength for such hard work. When you're out here amidst such a beautiful, natural, basic -- but so trying -- setting, somehow it just seems right to ask a higher power for help with that.

And finally - a funny one. Today Crystal and I were training our interviewers, and needed a break. Breaks are a little odd here -- we were in an open-air church, with no power, a dirt floor, cows mooing about 10 feet away -- even the latrine is like a 10 min walk. So, like, nobody's checking their B-berry or grabbing a Coke at break time. So Crystal suggested that we play a song on her battery-powered speakers. Immediately they all got jazzed -- and cries of "MJ!", "Akon!", "P-diddy!" rang out. I quickly blasted out some "Lady Marmalade" and IMMEDIATELY the trainees started dancing. It was HILARIOUS -- they loved watching us try to be as cool of dancers as them, too. The thing that made me emotional is that I love how the simple things - a fun song, for example - will totally jazz people up and get us all laughing together. We have so few of these simple easy pleasures and simple fun(ny) moments in our lives (esp. work lives) in the US. It's refreshing, fun, and touching to be around people who still recognize them.

PS - Additional funny note of playing "Lady Marm" -- Yelling out "voulez voius choucher avec moi ce soir" repeatedly in a church.