Rural Kalawa, Kenya is filled with striking contrasts.
There is the breathtaking beauty — the allure of all that our visions of Africa are. Alongside such exotic wonder there is also a very bleak, on-the-ground, real existence of the poor, rural communities.
The Season
The hot and dusty, the crude and makeshift of seemingly everything here —
Stark in contrast is the clear, bright blue sky, great cloud splotches that don't bring rain for over a month yet, the white, gray clouds their silver linings showing through, touching the roughness of this rural village.
Bright sunlight shining upon yellow blooms of cassia trees, shining upon vibrant pinks and purples of bougainvillea, shining upon plump, ripening mangoes hanging from lush, green trees, shining upon a pawpaw tree readying its fruits outside my window, shining upon tropical foliage still in full glory about the school.
These bright spots on this dry savannah — cushioning, cradling, coaxing — for more than a balmy breeze — more, for this school, these teachers, these students, these parents, for this rural town.
This life of people walking everywhere, of donkeys carrying heavy loads of water, of cows along the roadside, of maa-ing goats ever about the business of eating, of painstaking labor, of no labor, of hardness.
This life full of searching for more, for hope — as this hot, bright African sun beats down, relentless as the blue sky, the promising clouds, the brightness of tropical blooms, of children at play, the joy, the learning, the hope of teachers, of parents, of a rural village — a season of change.
— Paula, February 2023