Once upon a time, I competed in a chili pepper eating contest...

This past week, the new Form I’s (freshmen) joined our Icaciri family. They are all so small and cute with their new uniforms and innocent, wide eyes! I teach both Form I English classes, and every time I call on the class to answer questions, the students eagerly throw their hands up and stand up a little in their seats when called on. Oh it’s just so cute, and I wish I could help them retain a smidge of that enthusiasm for the rest of their four years of secondary school. However, that excitement wears off quickly (as verified by my Form II’s who really love to stare at me with the back of their eyelids. My favorite line in that class is, “If your neighbor is sleeping…POKE HER!”)

Teaching the past few weeks has been quite challenging, and I can become frustrated or overwhelmed when communication in the classroom just doesn’t work. For example, one day last week I told my students the story of my first day in middle school (a horrifying experience, really) when I threw up in the school cafeteria in front of like half the school. (An experience that doesn’t really compare to the time my sister threw up all over Steven Schunelle, but I thought it was a good enough story.) And I really got into it, too…I mean, I was acting for the class! When I reached the climax of my story (the barfing episode), I instinctively paused for their laughter to fill the room…unfortunately, I was met with dead silence and blank eyes. I even repeated the “punch line” hoping that they had just missed the funny part…nope! So sometimes my efforts just don’t work. However, I think it is more accurate to generalize my lessons as “mostly successful with occasional mishaps that probably result from my odd sense of humor.”

In other news, the avocado tree right outside of our apartment is bustin’ with avocadoes (I kid you not) the SIZE-OF-MY-HEAD. For those of you who do not know how avocadoes are retrieved from such an amazing tree, let me tell you one of the most awesome moments I have experienced in Kenya so far…

I had just finished a particularly frustrating bout of Friday lessons when I decided to get-the-hay-outta the staff room. Walking back to my house, I saw my buddy Keith over by the cow pin and began running to greet him. Right after our high-five, “Mazooka” “FOOL” session, Keith smiled and showed me the biggest avocado I’d ever seen. Then, I heard a little shout from the tree next to us, looked up, and saw a kid balancing on the frail branches with another avocado in his hand. Keith grabbed the kitange (a piece of fabric) in the grass and motioned for me to follow him. We each held an end of the cloth, and positioned ourselves directly under the kid in the tree. On the count of three, the avocado tumbled out of the air, falling ever so daintily into our kitange with a satisfying “plop!” We continued to retrieve avocadoes until each of us had two to take home.

Now, you may be asking, “Why don’t you just wait for the avocadoes to fall? Isn’t it dangerous to climb such a big tree?” 1. If we would wait for the avocadoes to ripen and fall, they would bust when they hit the ground, making for a sad, green mess. and 2. Climbing avocado trees is only dangerous if you are older than about 8 years old, for it requires a pretty small frame, and a heck-uva lotta guts to balance on those branches about 20 feet up in the air!

Shurie and I have just enjoyed our first free avocado, and I can say with all certainty that if you ever find yourself in Gatundu, you must travel up to Icaciri, find the secretary’s son, and have him help you pick one of the most amazing fruits I’ve ever had.

Last thing… Last week I challenged Anthony, the History/CRE teacher (who used to be a pro-volleyball player) (and who’s about 6’5” and at least 250 pounds) to a hot-pepper eating contest. Well, actually it went something like this:

“Anthony, I tried some of that chili pepper today, and it was delicious!”
“You?!” (Little coughing laughs of disbelief) “You can’t!”
“Excuse me? I did! I ate some!”
“I don’t believe you. Tomorrow, we shall see!”

So tomorrow came and I proudly took my plate over to Anthony for him to prepare me what he deemed an “appropriate” amount for a contest (about half of a chili pepper). He really threw in some “big” chunks and mixed it all up for about three minutes. He even tossed in some of the pepper seeds, just to make sure that I would suffer! He added the rest of the pepper to his own dish, and we ate…or one of us did. Anthony really sweated, actually, and he had to leave the staff room twice to gulp cold water. And me? No sweat! It was as delicious the second time as it was the first. The verdict?

“Aye-ya! You are tough!”

Heck yeah! They don’t call me “Rambo” for nothin’!