My head bumps the top of ceiling as I get back into the safari jeep again. “Are you okay?” someone asks. I respond with a weak “Yes. The ceiling and I are just getting aquatinted.” After five hours of driving and nursing my throbbing head, the jeep parks for us to get some needed stretch time for our weary legs. As I get out, the dry heat burns my abnormally white skin that Crayola has not found a name for in the white pallet. I take two steps forward and hear a noise that will cause anyone’s heart to stop. I avoid looking down—ignorance is so bliss…most of the time. But I can’t avoid the unavoidable for long, so I look down. Sure enough, my pants just ripped. Not just a little bit, no. The entire back side of my right pant leg fell off. Maybe it was the head injury that the jeep ceiling gave me or my lack of water that day, but nothing was going to stop me from the night Safari.
Sammy lifts the roof of the jeep, something I wish he’d done five hours ago. We hop back in. Sammy and I talk about life—about his children, his dreams, his hope for his home, and sports. Well, Sammy talks about sports, I just listen. An hour into the conversation, I ask Sammy when we are going to begin the safari. Sammy looks at me as if I had lost my left pant leg. “Nzuri. We started an hour ago.” (Again, I blame the head injury).
Safari’s don’t have a straight route. There are no roads, directions, or set paths. To safari means to drive into untouched territory with no plan other than to be back before dark so you don’t get eaten by an animal. Sammy smiles and tells me “Hakuna Matata. Look up. Look out.”
People say you haven’t seen a sunset until you see an African one. While the myriad of colors painting the skyline will leave you without words, this amazing vista is what changes a person. The remote, untouched land takes on new life with each fading ray of sun hitting the red earth and pale grasses. I’d even argue that pictures rob the beauty beneath the fertile ground.
As I watch the scenes unfold and listento the hum of Sammy’s jeep, my mind travels to my students back in the Rift Valley. I think about the orphans and my friends without homes. The beauty of the land juxtaposes the poverty in circumstances. But something feels different. This land feels full and energized. I forget about the lack.
Elephants paint the horizon. Giraffes come close. Lions stay far away. I watch as cheetahs are chased by baboons, and as the zebras race each other. I breathe in and close my eyes. No hand has touched the grasses or trees. Beauty and fullness do not come from the work of man, but from the land God has provided. These animals are as wild as they get which is not unlike my hair most mornings. They haven’t entered my home; I’ve entered their kingdom. Sammy looks at me. As if he can see my mind moving 150mph, he puts his hand on my shoulder and whispers, “be where your feet are.”
I catch myself most days, saying something along the lines of “when I graduate.” Before that, it was “when I start student teaching.” Before that, it was “when I get that one professor.” When I find myself in this trap of wishing for a job or to be a seasoned teacher or to finally have my own classroom, my mind travels back to Africa—the place where people live for the moment in front of them because that’s all they have promised….”be where your feet are” resonates with me often.
In Africa, I would marvel at the sight of a lion who was doing nothing other than being a lion. It didn’t take effort or training or a certificate or validation from someone else for the lion to be a lion. While I have more training now and I am about to get that piece of paper that says I can legally teach, I’ve been a teacher since I was five and played “pretend teacher” with my friends after school. I’ve been a teacher since I read my first sentence in pre-k. I’ve been a teacher since I started babysitting. I’ve been a teacher since I was bullied in middle school. I’ve been a teacher long before I will ever receive that piece of paper that validates who I am already.
I consider myself to be someone in the business of building character. Reading a book teaches kids to think about something from a different perspective, fostering empathy. Writing an essay teaches kids to know theiraudience, instilling a sense of ownership and developing communication skills. Getting the kid that sleeps the entire class to wake up develops perseverance in a student and teacher.
While students need training to do certain things, they do not need validation from an authority figure to have the character of a writer, a doctor, an actor, or whatever it is that they want to be. While a student may not have the training needed to be a practicing doctor, he or she can still heal others. We as teachers, specifically English teachers, get to facilitate this development. We can teach that future doctor how to use words, how to heal deep wounds, and how stories can help others fight their own battles. Words are powerful, meaningful, impactful.
I write this for three different sets of people:
- Students: Wherever you are at…whoever you are…don’t live for the “when.” Your opportunity now is far greater.
- Teachers: We need to be investing in our students’ character and current state rather than ONLY pushing them to think about the future.
- Pre-service teachers: Don’t wait to become a teacher. You are on a journey as a teacher NOW.
Don’t wish your feet were ten years into the future when you have been given this day. Don’t run on ground that isn’t there yet. When we live for all of the moments ahead, we forget to take complete advantage of the moment we are in. If you’re in the process of whatever, your moment is right now. Be where your feet are…
Teaching as Storytelling 