Monday evening

            Habari Family and Friends!\

            It's hard to believe we have less than two days left here at Daraja Academy. As cliché as it sounds, it feels like just a few days ago that I thought, “wow, we've got 10 days ahead of us! I better start gettig used to the beans; we're gonna be here for awhile!” Now I dread this Thursday for I can't bear to think about leaving these girls to which I have become so close. It will be quite an emotional departure. Today, first day of another academic week, made me realize how little time we have left and the importance of staying completely present in our last few days here with the girls, as to ensure that I do not leave with any regrets.

            After the raising of the flag, we MA students dispersed to our various activities. I chose to prioritize the Shamba Shed completion over attending my English and math classes as I felt it necessary to finish the job before our departure. After yesterday's replastering chaos with all 77 Daraja girls, Jane and I anticipated a lot of work to finish the Shamba Shed. While the Daraja girls were quite helpful in making progress, bringing their enthusiasm and creativity, they preferred a quantity over quality plastering technique. Despite this, they thoroughly enjoyed working with the plaster (dirt + sand + water + 1 cup of cement) as much as we do; we had a school-wide mud fight and painted each others faces while working. Amidst the 3 hours of chaos Jane and I, permaculture perfectionists, struggled to monitor their technique, thus leaving quite the touch-up job for us to complete. From 8am-1pm, Jane, Olivia, Alison, Kenia and I replastered the inside and outside walls of the building, listening to the O Brother Where Art Thou? soundtrack and oldies tunes to keep our spirits high. Us permacultural princesses were assisted by Steven, an adorable (and helpful!) Kenyan  seven year old, a child of a staff member. Even Johanna and Krista got their hands in the mud, learning to love the plastering process.

            After a usual lunch of potatoes, beans and corn, heavily salted of course, we attended our second Swahili class taught by our Kenyan teacher, Jessie, to the MA students and teachers. We learned greetings, introductions and simple vocabulary. “Jina langu ni Lizzy,” for example, meaning, my name is Lizzy and “ninatoka Marekani,” meaning, I am from America. As we left class, walking past the cows grazing in the field we looked up to see the dark blue, dramatic rain cloud filling the sky. Storms a brewin'. Alison and I retreated to my rondavel where we took a break from plastering and read by headlamp, awaiting the storm's arrival. Thunder clapped angrily and lightening danced across the sky, bringing an onslaught of rain. One by one our friends came back from their classes drenched and soggy. The storm lasted for over two hours, a well-needed soak as Daraja had felt the wrath of a drought this year. The Daraja campus land was left as muddy and wet as the plaster used on the shed that morning.

            We listened to the birds finally resume their calls and heard the loud repetitive “moo-ing” of the cows that surrounded our rondavel. We emerged from our warm beds and stepped out into the misty evening. I walked down to the garden to see all 77 girls ankle deep in the mud, clad in their navy sweaters, grey skirts and white socks. Around them were a half dozen men in green hard hats carrying poles and digging equipment. The greenhouse materials had finally arrived and with that came the start of construction. Jason called out instructions to the girls and volunteers in his enthusiastic booming voice. Using hoes and jembes we weeded and removed the plants in the beds and flattened the ground where the greenhouse would sit. The girls' black maryjanes grew an inch of thick brown mud at the sole. When our work was finally done we ran to the dining hall for a typical dinner of lentils and rice, tracking a path of mud all the while.

            After dinner I joined the Daraja girls and MA girls in one of their many traditions by grabbing my water cup and filling it to the brim, sneakily hiding it behind my back. We all stood at the entrance/exit of the dining hall awaiting a certain MA student. Jamie finally emerged and the girls attacked him, throwing cups and buckets of river water, drenching him head to toie. Happy 17^th BathDay, Jamie!

- Lizzy Elliott

Jamie experiences the Kenyan 'bathday' (sic) tradition as a great sport.
One of 100 celebratory cups (and pitchers and buckets) of water!