This summer, as a Global Social Benefit Fellow, I was sent by Miller Center for Social Entrepreneurship to spend eight weeks in Kenya. During my time there, my partner Avery and I conducted action research with Eggpreneur, a social enterprise that seeks to increase household income, economically empower women, and decrease childhood malnutrition by teaching women to be poultry farmers. This is a reflection from my experience in Kenya.
Ann, a worker at Eggpreneur, didn’t try to sugar-coat things. I remember calling her one day with our translator Ruth as Avery and I waited for Matt (the founder of Eggpreneur) to receive his luggage from the airport. As we spoke with Ann about her weekend plans, at one point, Ruth said, “we missed you today.” (Every day the past week we had seen Ann at the Eggpreneur farm, but this was the first day that we remained back at Matt’s house.) Expecting to hear a reply such as “I missed you, too” we remaining silent, but when silence remained on the phone line, Ruth spoke up and said, “didn’t you miss us, too?” Without hesitation, Ann simply replied, “no.” Jarred by a very authentic, but unusual reply, I further questioned her, “Ann, why didn’t you miss us?” Ann explained that she had not been expecting to see us at the Eggpreneur farm that day, so therefore, she didn’t miss us. Avery, Ruth, and I slightly laughed at her reply in that moment, but upon reflecting upon her response, I was intrigued to gain more of her perspective. Ann spoke boldly and authentically, and I desired to know more of her heart.
As usual, Ann was there to greet us at the farm the following day. We were headed to a very rural and hilly part of Kenya, a good two hours from the Eggpreneur farm. While the car ride was full of joking around and laughing with each other, when we got to the small town where we were to conduct interviews, things took a more serious note. The houses of the women that we were interviewing required a mile-or-so walk from the closest place we could park our car, and during that walk, Ann and I began to talk.
We discussed many things during that time from soccer to Kenyan tea, but what really stood out to me was Ann’s view of the United States. Unlike nearly everyone else Avery and I encountered during our time in Kenya, Ann didn’t like the United States. She didn’t like how she had to learn English when she could already speak Swahili and her mother tongue. She didn’t like how American pop music was playing in a small rural village rather than music from her homeland. She didn’t like how “white people” would come to her country and try and fix it when she would rather have her “own people” try and improve it instead. She loved her country, and it was clear she didn’t want the ideals and lifestyle of the Western world (particularly the United States) to be forced upon her.
We discussed many things during that time from soccer to Kenyan tea, but what really stood out to me was Ann’s view of the United States. Unlike nearly everyone else Avery and I encountered during our time in Kenya, Ann didn’t like the United States. She didn’t like how she had to learn English when she could already speak Swahili and her mother tongue. She didn’t like how American pop music was playing in a small rural village rather than music from her homeland. She didn’t like how “white people” would come to her country and try and fix it when she would rather have her “own people” try and improve it instead. She loved her country, and it was clear she didn’t want the ideals and lifestyle of the Western world (particularly the United States) to be forced upon her.
Her response was so beautiful, because even though I was from the United States, I agreed with nearly everything she said. America has many great aspects, but in many ways, I recognized how it has become a symbol of an “idealistic country” to many Kenyans, when we indeed have many challenges of our own. Ann and I continued to share many parts of our lives during various walks in Kenya, but as I reflect on my time with her, this conversation was a moment that inspired my heart in a certain way.
While conducting interviews of Eggpreneur customers was one of our key activities, another one of our roles was to understand how Women’s Catholic congregations throughout Africa could replicate the model of Eggpreneur. Furthermore, Avery and I spent five weeks with the Assumption Sisters of Eldoret helping them become poultry farmers and teaching them the basic skills of running a social enterprise. In addition to assisting with preparing the poultry house and financially planning with the Sisters, we also visited many of their schools.
While conducting interviews of Eggpreneur customers was one of our key activities, another one of our roles was to understand how Women’s Catholic congregations throughout Africa could replicate the model of Eggpreneur. Furthermore, Avery and I spent five weeks with the Assumption Sisters of Eldoret helping them become poultry farmers and teaching them the basic skills of running a social enterprise. In addition to assisting with preparing the poultry house and financially planning with the Sisters, we also visited many of their schools.
I initially thought these visits would be more focused on meeting the Principal, seeing the classrooms, and greeting some of the children, but I quickly realized it was much more focused on us. As soon as we would walk onto the grounds, we would immediately be bombarded by many kids trying to hug us, touch our hands, and feel our hair. As the immediate chaos died down, one of the teachers would often gather the students together, welcome us, and have us speak to them about who we were and what we were doing in Kenya. In these encounters, we were often treated as these “elite individuals” because we were from the United States, and I didn’t necessarily like it. However, I recognized that anything that would come out of my mouth in the next few minutes the children were going to take to heart. I had power, and I wanted to ensure I was using it effectively.
While they expected me to talk about my country--the common foods, languages (they were amazed we didn’t have a mother tongue), and culture of the United States--after remembering my conversation with Ann, I rather told them about their country. I told them about the beauty that lies within their own borders. Coming from the United States, I had fallen in love with Kenya, and I felt they really needed to be reminded of the beauty within themselves. They needed someone to be “their crystal” and reflect the light of Kenya back into their hearts. I hope in those few minutes, I could be that one.
The first thing I spoke to the children about was their strong sense of community. In the United States, we boast about being an “independent woman or man,” implying that we don’t need others to support our needs and desires (which I agree to some extent is good!). But in this process of becoming so independent, we have lost the ability to genuinely have a conversation-- an in-person discussion--with another. If someone rolls down their windows in the car next to us, we roll our windows up. We have developed a culture that dismisses everyone that is directly outside our “sphere of influence,” and by doing so, I feel we have lost such an important part of community that makes us feel known and feel loved.
The first thing I spoke to the children about was their strong sense of community. In the United States, we boast about being an “independent woman or man,” implying that we don’t need others to support our needs and desires (which I agree to some extent is good!). But in this process of becoming so independent, we have lost the ability to genuinely have a conversation-- an in-person discussion--with another. If someone rolls down their windows in the car next to us, we roll our windows up. We have developed a culture that dismisses everyone that is directly outside our “sphere of influence,” and by doing so, I feel we have lost such an important part of community that makes us feel known and feel loved.
In Kenya, this is not the case. Three days in a row our car got stuck on the rural roads of Machakos, and three days in a row, we had fellow strangers stop and help us push the car out of the hole or ditch. They did not do this hoping to get a few Shillings (the Kenyan currency) out of it, but I believe they did it because they genuinely care about their fellow stranger. They recognize that to build their country up, they need to build everyone up, not just those that directly affect them.
This sense of community is built upon a strong sense of reliance on each other. When there is a drought year and nearly everyone has lost their source of income due to the lack of any yield, they must come together to find ways as a community to feed themselves. And it is in this community of sharing the little food or money that they have, that they also share the joys and struggles of their hearts. They share what brings them life and what tears them down, and in this process, they feel known and loved. Isn’t that what the human heart truly desires?
This sense of community is built upon a strong sense of reliance on each other. When there is a drought year and nearly everyone has lost their source of income due to the lack of any yield, they must come together to find ways as a community to feed themselves. And it is in this community of sharing the little food or money that they have, that they also share the joys and struggles of their hearts. They share what brings them life and what tears them down, and in this process, they feel known and loved. Isn’t that what the human heart truly desires?
While I didn’t (nor couldn’t) speak about community exactly to the children this way, as I have had greater time to reflect on it more, this is what I wish I could fully express, although many of them would be too young to understand.
The other aspect I spoke to the children about was the simplicity of Kenya. While some could take this in a negative manner, I see it as something so beautiful. Sure, this simplicity can be taken as a nice way of discussing the lack of running water or access to internet or wifi, but I see this simplicity in another sense. I see this simplicity as what brings them joy. What authentically brings them joy.
The other aspect I spoke to the children about was the simplicity of Kenya. While some could take this in a negative manner, I see it as something so beautiful. Sure, this simplicity can be taken as a nice way of discussing the lack of running water or access to internet or wifi, but I see this simplicity in another sense. I see this simplicity as what brings them joy. What authentically brings them joy.
In the United States, we have many things that bring us joy (or I may actually argue happiness). We have iphones (what number are we on now...10?), movie theaters, bowling alleys, gaming stations, HD TV’s...the list could go on and on. In many parts of Kenya, these devices or activities may be available to some of the wealthy, but are often not an option for a large portion of the population. Does this mean Kenyans don’t have joy (or happiness)?
Absolutely not! Kenyans have joy in an incredible manner, but it is not necessarily in the gadgets and toys that they find this joy. Rather, they find it in people. They find it in seeing a friend on the road and saying hi. They find it running around playing tag with their younger brother. They find it in dinner conversations and in dancing with fellow Sisters. They find it in the simple, everyday encounters of their life.
I remember one night, Avery and I walked outside to return to our “little house” to head to bed. But as we looked up, we were taken aback by the beauty of the stars in the sky. For nearly twenty minutes, we just stood there in silence, not able to comprehend the joy we felt in that moment. Avery and I continued to try and express what we were feeling, but both of us knew that what we were verbally describing couldn’t touch the tip of the iceberg of the joy we felt inside. It was so incredibly beautiful, yet it didn’t even cost a penny. This is the simplicity that I talk about when I describe the Kenyan culture: It’s not necessarily about what you have, but who you are with and how those people make you feel. This is the simplicity that I deeply desire in my own life back on campus.
I remember one night, Avery and I walked outside to return to our “little house” to head to bed. But as we looked up, we were taken aback by the beauty of the stars in the sky. For nearly twenty minutes, we just stood there in silence, not able to comprehend the joy we felt in that moment. Avery and I continued to try and express what we were feeling, but both of us knew that what we were verbally describing couldn’t touch the tip of the iceberg of the joy we felt inside. It was so incredibly beautiful, yet it didn’t even cost a penny. This is the simplicity that I talk about when I describe the Kenyan culture: It’s not necessarily about what you have, but who you are with and how those people make you feel. This is the simplicity that I deeply desire in my own life back on campus.
Since my time in Kenya, my heart has overflown with different things to reflect on. There is an aspect of wishing I could just go back and live in the beauty of their community and simplicity. But as I reflect on this more, I recognize that is not what I am called to do. I remember the last time I returned home from a liturgical conference at St. Meinrad Monastery and Seminary (see my “my story”), I finally felt I understood what it means to leave such a beloved place. I finally recognized it wasn’t about waiting for the next summer to return again, but to bring “that” lifestyle into my everyday life. In the same way, since coming back to campus, I return to that same thought. How can I incorporate the aspects of community and simplicity from Kenya into my own life and the lives of others back at Santa Clara University?
I think that while that can be an easy question to ask, the answer is much more challenging. Sure one could simply say, “just say hi to more people around campus and help a brother or sister out when in need.” But will “just saying ‘hi’” lead to a greater sense of community? A greater sense of feeling known and feeling loved? A greater sense of people feeling like they belong somewhere or belong to something or belong to someone? I think it is definitely a start, but I believe I am capable and called to do--or perhaps be--more.
I think that while that can be an easy question to ask, the answer is much more challenging. Sure one could simply say, “just say hi to more people around campus and help a brother or sister out when in need.” But will “just saying ‘hi’” lead to a greater sense of community? A greater sense of feeling known and feeling loved? A greater sense of people feeling like they belong somewhere or belong to something or belong to someone? I think it is definitely a start, but I believe I am capable and called to do--or perhaps be--more.
As someone who has often struggled with feeling this sense of belonging, I have come to recognize that during these moments, what I often desire is to be heard and affirmed. I want someone to sit with me and not look at the clock every ten minutes because they are afraid they will miss their next meeting. I want someone to listen to me not just to reply, but rather to acknowledge that I am worth being heard. I want someone to be present with me in that moment and live with me in that moment. If only they had that moment to spare.
Are we audacious enough to spare that moment? Are we bold enough to enter into the lives of others rather than run around them? For when we truly know others and love others, then we can be “crystals” for the world as well. Perhaps it is in being a crystal that we are then connected to a greater sense of simplicity. A simplicity of joy that does not come from the many things that surround us, but rather from the person right in front of us. Perhaps in this way, we can collectively bring the community and simplicity of Kenya back to our home here in the United States. It is not the easy answer, but I think it is the answer that can transform the world.
Are we audacious enough to spare that moment? Are we bold enough to enter into the lives of others rather than run around them? For when we truly know others and love others, then we can be “crystals” for the world as well. Perhaps it is in being a crystal that we are then connected to a greater sense of simplicity. A simplicity of joy that does not come from the many things that surround us, but rather from the person right in front of us. Perhaps in this way, we can collectively bring the community and simplicity of Kenya back to our home here in the United States. It is not the easy answer, but I think it is the answer that can transform the world.