Brave as a Kenyan

It takes an incredible level of courage to be a Kenyan. I think my mind has been trying to piece this together since I got here, and today watching children sing and dance at the most beautiful performance competition I have ever been to, something clicked. I can’t truly explain how vibrant and dynamic these children were, how absolutely engaged and alive. Kenyans fully understand star power, and a child who has charisma will shine brightly in the spot light. There were so many kids who had ten times the presence of any child actor on the Disney channel. It was an amazing collection of traditional folk performances, the first time I have really been able to see traditional dress, or songs and dances. It was like everything I thought Kenya was hiding somewhere for the last two months came out in full regalia. It was stunning. Somehow in all this I was also able to put together what seems like the most striking difference between Kenyans, and almost any culture I’ve been immersed in before. Kenyans value fearlessness in a way that is almost beyond comprehension. I would describe almost any Kenyan living here that I’ve gotten to know as brilliantly fearless, and most act as if this trait is simply second nature, effortless. Watching these kids perform today, many dancing with spears and shields, demonstrating power in a way that was both beautiful and overwhelming, I finally feel like it came together for me.

I think of myself as pretty tough, but nothing has ever tested me the way this country has. I have not lived a “safe” life, but I come from a country that values safety, that has lots of railings and seat belts, road signs and instructional videos. We are so cautious with our children; we want them to feel a sense of security that will lead to what we think of as a solid foundation. We keep them away from stoves and knives and lock them in little car seats when carrying them around. As adults we continue to protect our safety, with security systems and pension plans. It’s a life long process of protection. None of that exists here.

There are still remote communities (mostly Maasai) in Kenya today who get in trouble with the government because they send their young men out to kill a lion as a way to prove they are ready to join the community as an adult. And they do, kill lions, though some are significantly torn up in the process. It sounds completely cliché, but I’m thinking about it more in relationship to how a community views and values safety. Virtually every community here has some right of passage for boys, usually between the ages of 11-18, that involves them having some part of themselves removed, sometimes teeth, sometimes foreskin, with out anesthetic, and they are not allowed to cry or call out in the process. These kids are so tough, but they start being tough way before they get to that point. I was surprised to see a two year old show up at my house with a slingshot. I have a group of mostly 5-10 year olds who come by on weekends and draw wonderful pictures with my little box of art supplies. Almost all the boys carry a homemade slingshot, but when even the two year old, who barely even talk, showed up with one- somehow I got it. Childhood here is not a time for coddling and curtailing all dangerous activity, childhood is a time to groom someone for an incredibly difficult, demanding, and precarious life. I watched another toddler be given an open Swiss army knife to play with at a restaurant yesterday. Children are often expected to stand in moving vehicles in order to create an extra seat for an adult. Hardly anyone here ever uses seatbelts, some even hang on from the outside of the vehicle, on roads that are rotted through with potholes, in vehicles falling apart at the seams, and going almost twice the speed limit. I joked with my friends that I completely surpassed my threshold for fear and adrenaline the first month I was here. Now I’m unnaturally calm.

While you might say that there are elements of education that are needed, I think that there are also questions about values involved. What kind of people do you want your children to become? How do you properly prepare someone for the realities of the world in which they live? Being over-protective of children here might set them up to be vulnerable in a way that could be far more dangerous and detrimental in the long run. There is also a significant difference in the culture of the cities in Kenya and those of the villages, each with their own risks. Children here come from cultures that expect them to grow up and work hard, to be warriors in one way or another, to hustle, to parent large families, to not complain, to survive, to endure. I have actually also never been in a place where parents love their children more. The kind of immense unabashed pride that comes over the faces of fathers here when their children come into the room is something I honestly do not ever think I’ve seen before. I have seen all of the men in my office with their children, and I have never seen fathers so bursting with love and pride for their kids. They are so proud of how intelligent, beautiful, and strong their children are. Some of them are just middle aged fathers, but they have already lost a child. There are so many different kinds of dangers for kids here. So many parents have lost a child to illness or accident. How do you create resilience and awareness in a child while also guarding their safety? It makes me think of stories of people who join the police force or army, who are tear-gassed during their training. How do we give our children the experiences they need to survive, to be unafraid, to embrace risk and move forward despite it. There is a Swahili saying that says: mtoto akililia wembe mpe when a baby cries over a blade-give it to him. The child will either learn of its dangers or learn how to wield it, but sheltering him is not an option.

I have developed a type of fearlessness here. The first month I was exhausted by it, but now I barely bat an eye at experiences that once shot adrenaline straight into my blood stream. It is a surprisingly hard call for me. My logical brain says- I would never intentionally put a child in a situation that required them to be so brave, to absorb so much risk, to become virtually immune to the idea of danger. At the same time I put myself here, and I am so grateful for these experiences that push me beyond the limitations of my own fear, redefine my understanding of safety, and mock my former inhibitions. Spiritually, I wonder what I am being prepared for. And I so deeply honor being in the presence of so many young people who look danger in the face and ask “is that all you got?”, and for the incredible lessons they are teaching me. In many ways this is the most foreign and gorgeous aspect of the Kenyans I have met. I am glad they have stopped treating me like I am so incredibly fragile and clueless, though sometimes I still feel that I am. It took a month before it seemed fine for me to go to town on my own. I like that I feel myself getting tougher, that I found a new edge, and occasionally I think you’d have to put me in a war zone to get me to flinch after this.

I still long for the comforts, consistency, and safety of home- there’s is a point nearly every day when I hit some sort of wall. But I push past it, wo/man up, figure it out, and I’m just getting to the point of the process that I’m grateful for my own resilience and persistence. I work hard to separate fear that is natural (if I jump, I will fall), and fear that is manufactured (I should fear them because they are different). I push myself hard to face the manufactured ones, I feel angry when they occur in me, they are often the shadows of the classism and racism we are acculturated into in the US. However I have a very healthy respect for natural danger, hence I only drink bottled water here, do not ride the motorcycle taxis, and take my malaria meds everyday.

One day, I want my own kids to be strong, to be fearless, and understand that they are incredibly capable and resilient, while still ensuring their safety and providing them with security and comfort. I am not sure if it’s possible to completely merge these two value systems, to create immense bravery in an environment of intense security. I am not sure if I could ever be as brave as a Kenyan- to make it seem so effortless to be so courageous. I truly appreciate what four months here can develop in me, every day I learn from the amazing courage of the people around me, their incredible strength, and unbelievable insistence to face so much fear with such certainty and grace .