As the sun crept toward the horizon Andy shook me awake from the front seat. We had been journeying toward Daraja since nearly dawn (or since last Wednesday, technically). After learning that on one in Nairobi is interested in selling a photo printer at 7am, we headed across town to pick up furniture that was being built for the expanding school. 15 minutes turned into 3 hours as Paul, Daraja’s resident driver and mechanic jumped into the fundi to assist the metalworkers in completing a bed. An impressive task, and one that gave me a chance to polish off Half The Sky. An incredible grounding for the work ahead of me, this book is recommended reading for all of you, especially those interested in global gender studies, education, and effective international aid.
“’Investment in girls’ education may well be the highest-return investment available in the developing world,’ Lawrence Summers wrote when he was chief economist of the World Bank. ‘The question is not whether countries can afford this investment, but whether countries can afford not to educate more girls.’”
- from The Girl Effect, the introductory essay to Half The Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide by Sheryl WuDunn and Nicholas D. Kristoff
In addition to girls’ education, the book focuses on rape as a weapon of war. Later on our drive, Andy explained that some of the students at Daraja had been raped during recent conflicts, and suddenly my reading gained a whole new context. Trying to push that to the back of my mind until I could learn more, I spent the rest of the journey taking in the changing countryside. The afternoon saw scattered showers, and surreal double rainbows (yes, stretching across the sky). I felt blessed.
Following the red dirt road, we rumbled up to the turnoff twenty minutes before dinner. I moved m bags full of supplies into the rondavel closest to all the action and luxuriated in a semi-heated shower. Seriously, it felt wonderful.
Rondavel 10 is quite possibly larger than my place in Cardiff. The bathroom is definitely bigger.
I was greeted at the dining all with squeals and hugs- one girl ran up to me crying “Debiiiiiii!” like we had known eachother for years. It had been too long since my last African hug (Ever had one? Try it.), and the weight of the last four days of transit lifted from my shoulders. This is where I have been heading. A flurry of excitement in the corner led to blaring Beyonce and an impromptu dance party. Equal measures traditional Kenyan dance and MTV Grind (remember that?), these girls can shake it. I made Lilian and Alice promise me that in exchange for teaching them photography, they would teach me to dance. Finally!
After dinner, I retreated to my rondavel to charge my laptop while the generator was on, unpack, and get some rest. Lala salama, Daraja.
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