The pitted road was impregnated with rocks and small boulders as our 4 wheel drive Toyota dodged zebra, gazelles and impala's across the Massai Mara. Yet the wild animals and natural splendor are only tangential to our journey that afternoon. We are heading to the Sienna Boarding School, just outside the boundaries of the Massai Mara game park. It is my third visit to the school, yet I still feel chills of inspiration as we approach the gateposts emblazoned with the motto: "Education is Light, We Extol Academic Excellence." Two elderly Massai open the gates and we roll down the driveway to the center of a compound of one story stone structures with corrugated metal roofs.
This inauspicious location is one of the most exhilarating educational success stories in the world. When it opened 15 years ago, there were 30 mostly Massai children who moved onto the property. The Massai are culturally and geographically isolated among Kenya's 41 tribes and very few village schools existed. Sienna school, founded with a grant from the World Bank, sought to provide mostly Massai children with intensive education in a boarding school environment. Today, over 300 students attend Sienna and it is one of the top ranked academies in Kenya. Students raised in Massai villages in dung huts compete with children of the elite Nairobi schools. And while most Sienna students to not proceed beyond the eighth grade, many matriculates onto secondary schools in Nairobi and attend university. These children are invariably the first generation in their family to even be able to read and write.
The force beyond this amazing achievement has been headmaster David N'Kanai. Six feet tall, 160 lbs with a shaved head, Mr. N'Kanai looks half his age of 62. Immaculately dressed in seersucker suit, sweater vest, button down shirt, necktie with suede shoes Mr. N'Kanai exudes all the formality of the headmaster of an English public school. He single handedly assembled a faculty of equally committed educators, growing the school year to year. Part headmaster, part teacher, part social worker, Mr. N'Kanai travels to the nearby Massai village, exhorting parents to send their children to school, chasing after children who have returned home, arguing with fathers not to betroth their 14 year old daughters and threatening families with arrest if they practice female circumcision. The walls of his dark office (generators are only run at night) are festooned with handwritten charts documenting the academic scores of attained by Sienna students over the years and the tables filled with trophies from academic and musical competitions throughout Kenya. Three 20 year old computers, one literally held together with duct tape, sit on a table and papers and documents cover every flat surface.
In Yiddish we refer to a righteous man as a Tzsadik and Mr. N'Kanai clearly merits this title. He is row own throughout Massai land for his single minded dedication to education and selfless devotion to his students.
The modesty of the school grounds with its decrepit classrooms, absence of playgrounds and grassless dusty grounds is belied by the formality of the students and teachers. Boys dressed in green trousers, checked shirts, neckties and sweater vests play soccer with a decrepit tennis ball while girls in matching green checkered school dresses hold hands in a circle dancing to age old Massai chants. Teachers maintain strict discipline in the classroom, their authority bolstered by a cane, liberally applied. The seriousness of the enterprise is evident in every move. The absence of material prosperity inversely related to the solemnity of the undertaking.
Sienna school owes its success to the World Bank, the Kenyan government, and the tenacity and dedication of David N'Kanai. Since the election of President Kibaki in 2002, free education has been made available to all children up to eight grades. While a tremendous step forward, government funds are not available for food and boarding expenses or for small uncertified community schools. Hence, Sienna students must each pay 2000 shillings ($27.00) per semester in school fees. Raising this money is a tremendous hardship on many Massai families, particularly during times of drought when the cattle do not produce milk and prices are low. Mr. N'Kanai cajoles parents to pay their tuitions, while allowing students repeated extensions to satisfy their obligation. Operating on a tight budget, Mr. N'Kanai does not have the luxury of waiving school fees; there is no other source of money to feed the students. If students do not pay their school fees, they are essentially requiring other families, equally impoverished, to fill in the gap.
The dire circumstances were driven clear on our visit today when an elderly Massai man in traditional dress, watery eyes, withered face, and worn walking stick walked to the office to make a small payment on a student's tuition. It became clear what the School was asking families to sacrifice and the tremendous hardship associated with school fees.
Yet, the precipitous financial condition of Sienna school is ameliorated by the relatively small amount of money required to alleviate its problems. During our first visit to Sienna in 2004, we met Mr. N'Kanai and watched a traditional Massai dance program. The singing and choreography was superb and we learned that the school was trying to raise money to rent a bus to send the dance group to the national competitions in Nairobi. We gave the school $350, the cost of a mid range case of wine, which allowed them to attend the competition. Sienna school won first place, bringing distinction and pride to the school, its faculty and students.
During our second visit to Sienna in 2007, was asked Mr. N'Kanai to identify five girl students with financial need who would be forced to get married if they left school and returned to their villages. When these beautiful pre-pubescent girls were brought before us, the only thing I could think of is that they no more had the appearance and demeanor of women than my 13 year old daughter. Yet if these girls were allowed to return home to their village for want of school fees, they would probably be subjected to genital mutilation and then be married off to a second, third or fourth wife to a much older man. As I looked at these girls, the only thing that came to mind was the image of my own 13 year old daughter being violated in such a horrific way. In the past 15 months, we have spent less than $350 and enabled these children to remain in school unscathed from such degradation.
On our third visit to Sienna last week, we drove up to find that we were not the only gusts. A luxuriously appointed white Range Rover was parked in the lot. This was the most tricked out ATV I had seen in my previous three visits to Massai Mara. The $75,000 vehicle was garnished with a $15,000 single side band radio and emblazoned with the emblem of the UN World Food Program. A chic producer, clad in painted on designer jeans and a tight shirt revealing her midriff was followed by a video technician and porter also entered into the office. "We are going to need to borrow the headmaster for a while so you will need to wait", she blithely told us in the pseudo-British accented of the international chic.
A conservative and traditional society, even the most progressive Massai feminists who I know take care to dress modesty in public. Yet the auburn haired hottie with her camera crew in tow was not about to super ordinate local custom and tradition to the opportunity the chance to flaunt her cute butt and perky tits. "We're making a film, she explained." Embarrassed at having arrived at Mr. N'Kanai office unannounced and mindful not to upset any assistance the school might receive from the August World Food Program we stood aside as this latter day Leni Riefenstahl be directed Mr. on his film debut. "We want you in shirtsleeves, she told Mr. N'Kanai, "it makes you look busier." Can you take off your suit jacket?" My Massai goddaughter has known Mr. N'Kanai for years and has never seen him without his jacket. Yet mindful that the weighty power of the International Food Program, he tolerantly takes off his coat, subordinating his personal sense of decorum and rectitude for the need to appeal to international donors. We also want to have a bunch of kids around you," she insists, "but not when I'm asking you questions." Mr. N'Kanai resigned himself to the indignity and sat himself down in front of a $10,000 video camera while Ms. Riefenstahl fired off rehearsed and rhetorical questions.
While Mr. N'Kanai was undergoing his examination, we spoke to the five girls who had benefited for our sponsorship for the past 15 months by avoiding betrothal and violation. The oldest girl was in the eight grades and about to take her qualifying examinations for secondary school in Nairobi. With delicate features and soft but surprisingly firm voice, she explained that she wanted to become a doctor and go back to Massai land when she graduated. She explained that she was very strong in science and math and was hopeful that she would qualify for specialized education. We asked how she intended to pay for secondary school since no government funding was available whereupon she expressed the hope that her brother would be able to sell enough goats to raise the tuition.
The second girl we spoke to was in the fourth grade and less confident in either English or Swahili than her older counterpart. Nevertheless, she explained that her goal in life was to become a pilot, although she had never set toot in an aircraft. I thought of my 14 year old daughter currently learning to fly a pipe cub and promised that next time I visited the school I would try to find a way for her to take her up on a bush plane.
The other three girls all wanted to be teachers, a prestigious but not particularly remunerative position in Kenyan society. When asked if they wanted to be married, they all demurred politely, while the oldest rolled her eyes in the disdainful smirk universal to 14 year old girls worldwide. At this point in the conversation, Ms. Riefenstahl barged into our conversation and, without any acknowledgment of these five amazing young women, asked us to move to the sidelines. Apparently our Barak Obama tee shirts were interfering of the idyllic tranquility of sweet little black children frolicking in ignorant bliss. The Obama phenomenon that had swept Africa, to every village and hamlet and mud hut was of no interest to this documentary filmmaker.
We walked over to the other side of the yard and a group of 30 boys ages 8 to 14 surrounded me. Some of the children with limited English fluency put their arms around me and others played with the hair on my forearms arms, something they had never seen up close on a person before. The other boys noticing my Obama tee shirt began shouting out questions.
"Who is going to win, Obama or McCain?"
"Obama is ahead right now and I'm very hopeful."
"Does McCain want to kill Obama?"
"No No" I responded, anxious to protect the integrity of my political opponent. "They just disagree on fundamentals."
"Then why do people at McCain's rallies say Obama should be killed?"
"They are just crazy," I explained, "and McCain denounced them.
"What about Sarah Palin?" they ask skeptically, "did she distance herself from the people at her rallies who want to kill Obama."
"I don't think so," I reluctantly conceded, anxious not have foreigners think of Governor Palin as a race bating bigot, but unwilling to lie on her behalf.
"What about the guy in England who was killed for wearing an Obama tee shirt?"
"McCain had nothing to do with that, "I responded defensively. "How do you know so much about the US election?"
"I read the paper every day," a 13 year old boy explained proudly. "The school gets three papers every day and we pass them around the 100 kids and teachers"
"Do you like politics?" I ask him
"Yes, I want to be a politician when I grow up," he said in Oxford English.
"Does anyone have any more questions about the US?" I offered, and the inquisition expands in as more kids join in the fray.
"Yes, does Bush support McCain or Obama?"
"Bush and McCain don't really like each other, but Bush is supporting McCain."
"Will Bush rig the election so that McCain wins?"
"Absolutely not in the US elections are only rigged at the state level," I reply, thinking of the disenfranchised voters in Florida in 2000, " and only when the outcome is very close does vote rigging make a difference," thinking of Ohio in 2004. Hesitantly, I continue, "this year there is a Democratic Governor and Secretary of State in Ohio so that unlike in the last election where voters in Democratic precincts waited up for 12 yours to exercise their franchise we think the election will be handled more appropriately this time." Not exactly a ringing endorsement of US democracy, but I was not in the mood for prevarication.
"Any other questions?"
"What do you do?"
"I'm a lawyer."
"Do you go to court?"
"Yes, I get money from big companies who poisoned innocent citizens with cancerous chemicals."
"Do you get money to defend criminals?"
"I don't do criminal work anymore but everyone should be given a chance to prove their innocence and not let the government just put people in jail without a fair trial. Even criminals have rights."
"What about the four guys who tried to kill Obama?"
"I don't think they have had a trial yet."
"Will they be executed?"
"No, we don't have that many executions in the US, "I said haltingly remembering that the US executes more people than all countries except Iran and China.
"We usually just put people in jail."
"Do judges take bribes to decide the case the way you want?"
"No, judges in America don't take bribes," I say with confidence.
"Does the US president have to follow the law?"
"Yes, in the US we have an independent judiciary and no one is above the law, even the president."
"Does Bush follow the law?"
"Well, not really," I admit thinking of Guantanamo, domestic surveillance, torture and the legal theories of David Addington and Jonathan Yee.
"So when Bush leaves office, will be he prosecuted for war crimes before the International Court of Justice?"
"No, I don't think so," I say hesitantly, dreading the next question.
At this point I am saved from further inquisition when Mr. N'Kanai, having finished his interview with Ms. Riefenstahl walks in front of me. "What are you boys talking about?" he asks.
"Obama," they respond in unison.
"Are you for Obama?" he asks.
"Yes" they shout at once.
"Well I'm for McCain," he proclaimed defiantly. "Why are you for Obama?" I see a Socratic dialogue taking shape.
"His father is Kenyan"
"So what," Mr. N'Kanai responds. "You need to vote for the most qualified person. What makes you think that Obama is qualified just because his father is Kenyan? Do you know him?"
"No"
"Is he going to move back here?"
"No"
"So what does it matter that he is Kenyan? You need to support the candidate who is going to serve the people best, weather or not he is from your tribe or not. You can't vote for someone based on what tribe he or she is from, you need to think who is going to serve the people best. Now tell me what makes you think that Obama is going to be a better president than McCain, not just that he is from Kenya."
"Without missing a beat," Obama will make the US foreign policy less warlike than McCain."
"There you go," Mr. N'Kanai grins, "you're a smart kid. Now get back to class!"
Mr. N'Kanai turns to confer with some teachers. As we walk back to the main building, I see the documentary filmmaker standing by when her cameraman and helper are packing up their equipment. Filled with optimism and joy over this exhilarating exchange with Sienna students and eager to share some connection with someone who has witnessed an equally inspiring thing I turn to her and ask.
"Isn't this place inspiring?"
"Oh it is so pitiful," she condescended. "These kids that don't have enough food. It's so depressing." Assuming it was our first trip to Africa, she went on "but don't let this place get you down, maybe you will see some lions on your drive back." With that she alighted into her $75,000 World Food Organization range rover, slipped on her designer sun glasses and look straight ahead as her driver chaffered her past the driveway and out the gates without speaking to a single child. Had she seen the same school I had?
We work our way back into Mr. N'Kanai's office. He is obviously relieved to have the aid agencies gone and we begin to talk.
"We are the last boarding school in Kenya to charge 2000 shillings a semester. Most schools like us are charging 3000 or 4000, but our parents are already struggling to pay the school fees to educate their kids. As it is, there are 50 students who are so behind in their school fees that they are going to be sent home. I gave a warning two weeks ago and another warning last week. Tomorrow I am going to have to send these students home. I hate do to it, but I have no choice. We are down to two sacks of beans and one sack of maize. Some kids will come back with some money and I will take them, no matter how little they bring. Other kids will never come back. I'm particularly worried about my eight grade students. The national examinations are next month and the kids need to place well to get into secondary school. We are pushing the kids pretty hard to get ready for the examination for secondary school and I think our school is going to place very well in the national rankings. However, if our eight graders miss a week or two of school before their parents come up with the money they will not be as prepared for the national examination as they should be."
"These kids who aren't paying their school fees," I ask, "is it just that their parents are selfish or do they truly not have the money?"
"They don't have the money," explained Mr. N'Kanai, "many of these kids have single mothers who barely struggle to survive. The political violence last January has caused tourism to fall off and the Massai women are not able to sell as many beads to the tourists they did last year. Also the drought has cut milk production among Massai to less than a liter per cow today. As it stands right now, we are feeding our kids powdered milk. Imagine, In Massai land not having fresh milk to feed our kids!"
I inquire weather increased food prices have affected his program.
"The widespread violence in the aftermath of the flawed elections resulted in farmers not planting their crops in January. This in connection with raising energy prices and increased demand for agricultural products worldwide has more than doubled the price of food in the past six months. We used to pay 2000 shillings for 50 kilos of beans; now the price is 6000. Rice was 100 shillings a kilo; now its 500. There is simply no way we can keep feeding all these children when they don't pay their school fees.
"What about the International Food Program folks who were just here," I ask, "haven't they been providing the school with aid?"
"They came last fall and promised to help, "Mr. N'Kanai replied. "We got a little bit of food a few months ago, but have received nothing since then. They keep coming back and doing interviews promising assistance, but we have seen nothing."
I sit back in disbelief. The annual budget for Sienna school is less than the cost of the tricked out range rover I just saw outside the school. They could have handed Mr. N'Kanai the keys to the vehicle and fed the kids for two years. The International Food program is probably spending $100,000 producing the humanitarian film in which Mr. was posed for an interview, a 20th of which would have brought all the student balances up to date. Apparently the impact of a slickly produced film filled with hungry little black children and earnest teachers in shirtsleeves was a higher priority than putting food into the bellies of the very children the organization was filming. I remembered all the disparaging things that Conservatives say about the international aid bureaucracy and wondered weather they are correct.
As a man of action, I am often wrong but seldom in doubt. When I see a problem with an obvious solution, I have little patience for extended dialogue or sophisticated analysis. I take a deep breath, and address the issue head on.
"How many students are so behind in their school fees that are in danger of being sent home?" I ask decisively.
"About 50," he replied.
"And how many kids in total are behind on their school fees?"
"Over a hundred," he says.
"And these are kids whose parents don't have the money, not just ones whose parents don't want to pay?"
"Absolutely," he said, "if their parents were just selfish I would have sent them home months ago."
Shifting into my take charge mode, I say.
"How much will it take to keep these kids in school?"
"A few thousand shillings will let us keep going," he replied.
I clear my throat. "Mr. N'Kanai, your school is the most inspiring place I have ever seen. The kids you are teaching are so bright and vibrant; the work you are doing is so important to the future of Kenya. I breaks my heart to think of you having to send children away from such a wonderful place just because they are poor and can't pay their school fees. I am going to make it possible for you to avoid sending any children home tomorrow or any time. Can I see the list?"
I am handed a three sheets of paper impeccably typed with British formality listing the names of the sixth seventh and eight grade students who were arrears in their school fees and the amounts owed which range form 200 to 7,000 shillings. There were 105 students in total. I asked Mr. N'Kanai for a calculator and added up the total amount owed by all these students which came to 272,500 shillings. Divided by 75, the current cash exchange rate, it came to $3,630. I then reached into my money belt and counted out how much money I had: $3,600.
Mr. N'Kanai had expected a donation to keep the kids in school for a few more weeks, but was visibly shocked when I waked into his office with $3,630 in cash to pay the outstanding school fees of all 105 students. Despite his eloquence and erudition, Mr. N'Kanai was so shocked that he could not muster anything besides a mumbled thank you. Mindful of Maimonides' writings on charity, I was happy that the suddenness of events had prevented any effusive words of gratitude and praise. I was the one who felt thankful for being placed in a position to perform such a mitzvah.
The secretary told us it would take several to prepare detailed receipts for all the 105 students we had assisted. (I always insist on receipts for all my charitable work in Africa), so we agreed to come back on Saturday and pick up receipts. We left the school at twilight and headed back to our lodge. On the way, we pulled over to look at a pride of lions. Four lion cubs walked to within a yard of our car and we later pulled within six feet a gigantic male loin. My goddaughter who had spent 30 years growing up in Massai land said that was the closest she had ever been to a lion.
As I near the half century mark in my life, I have become more spiritual and open to a divine presence to the world. We showed up at Sienna school unannounced one day before they were going to send 50 home and the amount of money the children needed was the exact amount of cash that I had. Coincidence? Probably so. But irrespective of weather or not our presence at Sienna that afternoon was subject to a divine plan, I know that we were doing God's work.
