“Mama, I’m going to Africa,” I said to my mother as I entered the house one day after school during my freshman year of highschool. She nonchalantly responded, “Yea, right.” Earlier that day a sophomore boy gave a presentation during assembly about the all girls high school he and his father had traveled to last summer to volunteer. He went on to speak about all of the things he was able to provide to the school and how the girls gave him even more in return. I wanted to have those same experiences. He closed his presentation with the exciting news that a select few members of our high school would be able to join him, his father, and a few of our teachers in Kenya this upcoming summer.
My mom thought that I was joking after my unsuspected claim to be going to Africa until I forced her to go to the information session. I didn’t have much information about the trip to attempt to persuade her before the session, but I knew that I wanted to leave America and this was my first opportunity. No member of my family had been out of the country before and as far as my mom was concerned, I would not be the first. Though my mother was not fond of the idea of her 14 year old daughter flying to the other side of the world for 3 weeks, she agreed to go to the information session. Still not convinced, my mother said she’d think about me going on the trip, but she said she just needed time. To me she just needed a push, so I signed my own permission slip. Initially my mother was angry, but then she realized just how passionate I was about making this happen and she supported me.
During the summer of 2010 I traveled to Daraja Academy in Nanyuki, Kenya and little did I know I would fall in love. I initially wanted to volunteer at Daraja Academy to have my first international experience, but I also loved the volunteer aspect more than expected. During my time at Daraja I taught eight women’s empowerment classes, six dance classes, six journaling classes, and two photography classes. In addition to teaching, I met the most amazing people, the girls at this school were nothing like anyone I’d ever met in America. They had the most rigorous academic schedules ever, from 5:30am-9:30pm. They all came from extremely poor slums and most had been malnourished, abused, or raped before Daraja Academy. However, during my time on campus I did not hear one complaint. Besides all their obstacles in their lives they were still smiling from sun up to sun down. I left Daraja Academy with my hands filled with letters reading, “I love you sister,” “Please come back soon sister,” eyes filled with tears, and a head filled with wisdom.
Though I was only in Kenya for three weeks, I fell in love. I fell in love with traveling. I fell in love with service. Nine countries and hundreds of hours of service later I reflect on this service learning trip nearly six years ago and realize that I can pinpoint the exact moment that shaped my current life and I fell in love.
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