Progress...

Progress(?).  That is the first word that comes to my mind and the first question I ask myself when I wake up under my mosquito net with the rain pattering on the tin roof of my hut in the morning. Are we progressing? And as I sat in front of a computer screen yesterday, in a cement hut, paraffin lanterns off, generator on, iHome plugged in, and a room full of children and adults entranced by the movie The Notebook on a 14-inch computer screen, I whispered to myself, “Yes, we are.”



A part of me felt that it was wrong to do that, to expose the people of Muhuru to the technology, to the distractions, to the complications we have in the U.S. I wanted them to stay so pure and untouched as I had created the schema of Africans to be in my head. I wanted life to remain simple.



Why do we try to fight progress? Why are we so fearful of its components? Maybe it is the same reason we choose to start something new, to end relationships before they become “too much,” to be weary of trans-Atlantic love affairs. And maybe it’s why entrepreneurs in developing countries focus on piecemeal projects, a little light here, a little building there, a little water here, a little bit of books there, instead of the whole the whole village, the whole problem, human being. If we keep progressing, we keep getting in too deep, we keep making things a bit more complicated…



And yet, after being in Kenya going on three months, I am still stuck on a seemingly contradictory question I consistently ask myself. It pops into my head every time we drive into town and Lake Victoria appears at the horizon, flashing her magnificent blue, large mountains looming in the distance, “Why is this placed NOT developed?” Perhaps I need to change my bias of what development even is, perhaps I need to think about the meaning of running water, of gridded electricity, of easy access, of convenience, of fast food, of “now.” Maybe there is more progress here than I can see. Maybe I see progress in absolute terms and outcomes instead of the growth I see all around me.



In fact, the progress I have seen in two months in Muhuru Bay, is more than I saw in a year in New York. Sometimes I feel as if this community gains decades in a single day. In a few days, hundreds of families received access to light for the very first time, using a small metal panel and the power of the sun. In just two days, the first preliminary exams were administered to 450 students hungry to know where they stood in terms of academic performance, and for the first time, the teachers of this community could actually sit down and analyze an exam. In just one day, poles for gridded electricity appeared in town with crowds of people mesmerized by workers connecting metal cables across a small dirt road. In one eventful bus trip, a copy machine, capable of distributing mass amounts of information was brought into a community that writes everything by hand. In a few hours, two students learned to input information into an excel file, using shortcut keys that took me years to figure out. (The power of Control C!) In just a half an hour, a community’s fate in running water was determined by an open-minded man at a UNICEF office. And in countless moments and numerous decisions and innovations made in the minds of hopeful officials, teachers, students, and family members, this community pushes forward, to progress and to move. We are progressing.



So. As I look out my wooden-shuttered window, writing furiously and racing the sun before it sets, I feel more certain than ever that the students in Class 8 will reach their goal. Imagine a community empowered to take action and improve the educational standard, to actually believe me when I say that their scores will increase by more than 50%, to actually teach through a nation-wide strike despite fears of looting and rioting, to actually organize a movement to buy solar-powered lights so that schools become havens of light in which to study, to actually become elated at the idea of breaking down test questions into standards in order to analyze their students’ results; imagine a community empowered to innovate, to create, to progress past the ideas of the past that have oppressed Africans, convincing themselves that they were corrupt, unethical, wild, barbaric, undeveloped, needy, uncivilized… imagine people coming to the realization that Africans, indeed, have the drive, motivation, innovation, ability, resources, collaboration, and high expectations to progress, that they are the same, if not, more advanced in their thinking about developing the educational standards, that Africans’ ideas and hopes are limitless.



My mama here, Mama Eunice, often tells me, “Mama knows best.” She knows when I am hungry, sad, happy, tired, need a wash; she is able to read when I am feeling anxious. Perhaps what she has taught me is a simple lesson in progress. While I may have been too busy, too distracted, or even too fearful to listen to and take care of my body’s needs, I needed a little voice to tell me to remember… She does not necessarily “know best,” but rather, she reminds me to listen to myself. While I do not know what is best for Kenyan school children and while I may read the situation wrong at times, maybe I am like Mama Eunice’s voice, whispering in the ears of the teachers that they know what is best for their children, and maybe I simply remind them that they know how and can keep moving forward. We can, and do, and will progress. Maybe we just need to open our eyes to how much is possible.