Jon Patton's Story
Arriving in Kenya one day late because of a missed plane definitely caught me off guard. I had expected a big city with plenty of poverty and pollution, and in this respect I was not disappointed. The ride to the Maasai Mara the next day was only the beginning of continual shocks that would rock my foundation throughout the trip.
The literal shocks to my body began on our road trip from Nairobi to the Mara on that second day. As I bounced around the back of our huge green lorry for six hours, along roads where the paved section was so bad that people took dirt paths running parallel to the pavement instead, I looked forward to pulling into the Kenya School of the Savannah Leadership Center later that night.
We arrived (finally!) and the following morning showed us the center in a new light. We could see our tents, which sat on cement foundations and were covered by wooden roofs onto which various small animals would jump nearly every night for the rest of our stay. We could follow the paths without stumbling along in darkness, and we began taking in the beauty of the landscape.
Waking up early to watch the sunrise while nursing at least two or three cups of wonderful milky chai tea became my morning routine. More importantly, if I got up early I wouldn’t be woken up by the ‘wake up song’, which on some mornings was simply people yelling as loud as they could outside our tent.
Our days were usually packed with school-building, playing with or teaching the children and taking part in sessions, which some affectionately began referring to as therapy. I had come to Kenya looking for the experience of a lifetime, and I was in no way let down. All the people in my group—the leaders, guides, camp staff, children, community members and teachers—made it so memorable that the following anecdote about building trusses doesn’t do justice to the numerous things I was taught and the incessant revelations that made this trip such a life-changing experience.
On the second last day at the build site, Dan, Jen and I volunteered to help two Kenyan workers, Robert and Nicolas, build roof trusses.
When we began, Robert and Nicolas had already built a template so all we had to do was nail the next truss directly to the one below it, and so on, to ensure that all five trusses were the same.
After watching Robert demonstrate, we all took turns hammering and sawing. Seeing the others struggle in their attempts, I was a little apprehensive. But then I figured, Hey, I have done lots of renovation with my dad, this can’t be too different.
After my first attempt to drive a nail through the three or four inches of wood my confidence was slightly dampened. For some reason I kept missing the nail or hitting at an angle so that it was continually bending. It didn’t help that I could see the workers smiling before Robert finally decided I needed help and came to my rescue.
As it turned out I was better at sawing in a relatively straight line than I was at hammering, so I mostly stuck to that. (My ego commands that I let you know my hammering technique had improved enough by the end of the day to be called adequate!)
It was during those first frustrating attempts to hit the nail and saw a straight line that my mind began searching for reasons and causes and I started noticing the tools we were using. Small things stuck out, like the fact that there was no grip on the handle of the hammer so it twisted in my hand no matter how hard I held onto it. I also noticed that the way they sharpened the saw, by passing a file in between each of the teeth, left them crooked and made it more difficult to get a straight edge.
While sawing through the wood, trying desperately to keep it straight, with my arm burning nearly as much as my back, I really began to appreciate those small conveniences we have back in Canada like straight teeth on a saw, or maybe larger conveniences like a power saw.
More importantly, something occurred to me: Here I am, building a school in Kenya, making a huge difference, doing something meaningful for a community, simply by using the tools that are available to me.
I thought to myself: This is exactly what I have to do when I get back home. If I want to make changes in my own life, in my community, in my country, or in this world, I have to use whatever tools are available to me; I can’t wait for the perfect moment or the opportune time to make those changes.
I continued sawing with renewed vigor and appreciation, happy to have a burning arm for such a good reason.
During one of my frequent breaks, I stood talking to Robert, one of the Kenyan workers. He told me his father had been a builder, and that he had followed in his footsteps and gone to school to do the same.
Looking out over the school’s field, with cows grazing in it, over the road, and down into the surprisingly green valley with its maize fields and houses, Robert told me how important it is to build schools, and how proud he was to be building them. He stressed that building, especially schools, has to be done “slowly by slowly,” meaning that each step has to be done perfectly so you can keep building on it, and then in the end you will have a structure that is well built, but more importantly, will last.
The wisdom of Robert’s words struck me, particularly because he was my age. I realized that this ”slowly by slowly” motto applied just as well to my own life and the changes I wanted to make.
This is how we must make the changes in our own lives: slowly by slowly, making sure that each decision, each change, is well thought-out so we can continue to build on it, so in the end we will have changes that are effective, but more importantly, will last.
And so my message is one of hope: I have seen the differences these small changes can make and I am confidant that the more people who make these changes, the more opportunity there will be to build. Then, slowly by slowly, these changes will add up and gain momentum, increase in their scope, and eventually we will be able to change the world.
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