In July, the association Una mano per un sorriso – for children, also known as Smiley Hand, inaugurated its new junior secondary school: Smiling Junior Secondary School Lucky-Summer. This is another important milestone added to all those that now mark the association’s long journey, and therefore its history itself.
Throughout this great story, two people will be mentioned: Paola and Marta, respectively the president and vice-president of “Una Mano per un Sorriso – For Children”. They were among the first to travel to Korogocho, in Nairobi, Kenya, and to believe in a project that, at that time, was only an idea: to provide education and protect the rights of the children living in a slum on the outskirts of Nairobi, in the shadow of the largest open-air landfill in East Africa. It was there, between Korogocho, Dandora and Ngomongo, that they began to build relationships, trust and the first concrete projects, starting with support for Smiling School in Ngomongo, one of the nursery, kindergarten and primary schools in the neighborhood.
From that first step, the project grew. The Smiling School in Lucky-Summer was established, with lower secondary classes, as well as the Smiling Center, a multifunctional center with computer labs, spaces for activities with volunteers, and the opportunity for children to receive free physiotherapy every Friday morning in the room dedicated to the Smiling Clinic. At this point, one might ask why it was decided to rebuild the new lower secondary school, whose inauguration was mentioned at the beginning of this introduction. Here are the words of President Paola Viola, published in this issue of the “Diario Speranza” newsletter.
“…our story has never been about choices planned in advance, but about our ability to face the challenges that arose.
Once the Smiling Center was completed, the new challenge was the reform of the Kenyan education system. Compulsory schooling was extended through Grade 9, rather than ending at Grade 8, meaning that schools had to adapt to new curricula, new skills and new standards.
For many schools in slums and informal settlements, this change represented an enormous challenge. Almost none had the resources needed to meet the new mandatory requirements: computer labs, proper cafeterias, spaces for children, gyms, and chemistry and science laboratories, all considered essential to preparing students for the transition to high school.
Once again, we decided to take on the challenge. We purchased another small plot of land next to the old Smiling School, demolished the existing structure and built a new school. We then redesigned the available spaces, integrating them with everything that was still missing. It is a story of growth and of the ability to embrace change, of a community that has been able to evolve and become ready to face a new transformation.
Paola Viola, President of Una Mano per un Sorriso – For Children”
Here, we decided to let one of the people who makes this beautiful journey possible, day after day, tell us his own story — a journey made up of many pieces, or, in the association’s own words, made of “many steps at a time.” Isaac Onyango Otieno is now a teacher at Smiling School. His story begins far from here, in a village in the Nyanza region, and passes through those very same slums where, every day, he now stands on the other side of the classroom. His teaching method places his students’ stories at the heart of his work, and this is what lies behind the strong academic performance of his classes. You will see for yourselves the incredible talent of this brilliant young man,who is driven less by a love of teaching than by a desire to help others.
My name is Isaac Onyango Otieno, and this is my story.
Otieno is my surname, my father’s name. Onyango, on the other hand, is a cultural name given to me based on the time of day when I was born. This is a common tradition, particularly within our Luo culture. I was born at home in Oyugis, a small village in western Kenya, in the Nyanza region, near Lake Victoria.
I was delivered by midwives, as was often the case in villages, where there was usually someone in each community who was suited to the role. Of all my siblings, I am the only one who was born at home and the only one born in our village; the others were born in the surrounding area or directly in Nairobi. For this reason, I can say that I am the one who truly belongs to that land. In the meantime, my father had already moved to Nairobi. He wanted to get settled first, find a stable job and build something for himself, and then bring the whole family to join him. I joined him when I was just nine months old. From then until I was eleven, I lived in the capital, returning to my village only very rarely.
When I was eleven, however, my parents decided to send me to the countryside to live with my maternal grandmother. It was not my home village, but another one in the same area. I never asked my parents why they had made that decision, but today I believe I understand the reason. Especially in those years, it was common to send boys to the countryside to keep them away from city life and give them the chance to experience a different way of living. In Nairobi, in fact, criminal activity was widespread. We lived in the Kariobangi slum, and every year we witnessed several cases of young people being killed by the police or becoming victims of mob justice, often because of robberies or similar incidents. Many boys began getting involved with drugs and weapons as early as twelve or thirteen. For this reason, many parents chose to send their children to the countryside in an attempt to keep them away from that kind of environment. I am fairly convinced that this was also the reason my parents decided to send me to my grandmother. And, in fact, that decision helped me.
When I arrived in the countryside, I started Grade 7. The following year, I received some terrible news: a former classmate of mine had also been killed by the police. It had happened in one of the very places where we used to go and play. For those who remained in the city, parents had an increasingly difficult task: constantly keeping an eye on their children because crime levels were getting higher and higher. There was crime in the countryside too, of course, but not only was it at a much lower level, it was also easier to keep track of where the children were going.
For me, living in the countryside also proved useful in developing a stronger sense of responsibility and a more solid character. Many children do not like rural life because it involves manual work such as farming or fetching water. When you are sent there, it can initially feel almost like a prison, but now I see it as a form of rehabilitation. During those two years, I became physically stronger and matured in character and in my sense of responsibility. I stayed there until I finished school, and I can say that I came out of the experience a better person. My grandmother also had a great influence on me. She is a very religious person, and her presence helped me in many ways.
When the time came to start secondary school, I had to wait about two months for financial reasons. There was no money to pay the school fees. I had nevertheless achieved fairly good results: I scored 304 points in the KCPE exam. It was not a bad result. I know many people had done better than me, but with that score I could certainly have been admitted to a good school. Once again, however, financial difficulties would determine which school I attended, but I decided to do my best anyway. In the final exams of my first year, I came fifth. The following year, I came first. And for all four years that followed, I remained at the top of my class, without question.
To this day, I tell myself: well done, Isaac, and give myself a pat on the back.
Between Nairobi and School
For the four years of secondary school, I attended this small school, the lowest-level school possible, but it had a programme for students who came from far away: a kind of “boarding school” where those who could not return home had the possibility of sleeping at school, so I lived there.
During the short holidays, I stayed in the countryside with my grandparents; during the longer ones, I returned to the city to be with my parents, who had moved from the Kariobangi slum to the Lucky Summer neighborhood. It was a significant improvement, but life was still difficult: it was the only place where I was ever forcibly thrown out of my home.
I believe my father could no longer afford to pay the rent and had accumulated a lot of debt. One day, the landlord came to the house, gave us a warning, and then took a couple of sofas and some chairs and put them outside. A few weeks later, he came back and took everything outside. I did not even have a phone, so I could not call my parents to tell them what was happening. Everything, absolutely everything, was outside. It was a very painful experience. There was nothing I could do but sit in the street and wait for my parents to come home that evening. When they arrived, they had to remove the padlock from the door and put everything back inside. I do not know exactly how they managed to resolve the situation, but in the end, they did.
In 2015, we moved to Ngomongo and went to live in a corrugated-iron house. There were seven of us: five children and two parents. We had very little space. The positive thing was that I was attending secondary school and, as I mentioned, it was a boarding school, so I was not at home most of the time. My sister also attended a school with a dormitory. During the holidays, however, it was really difficult, especially when it rained. I would think: “Why did I come here?”
After spending four years of secondary school at a boarding school, continuing to travel back and forth between the countryside and the city, I finished school in 2017 and moved back to Nairobi permanently. Paola and Marta had already been here for quite some time. I had never met them, perhaps only during the holidays. I know they were already here when we were still living in Lucky Summer, because one day our younger sister, Naomi, came home singing a funny song. When I asked Paola where she had learned it, she told me: “Yes, I taught it to her.” I had also seen some videos of my siblings singing with Paola at the old school. Paola was already there, and she was already in contact with the school principal, Abraham. In the meantime, the school kitchen had been built. Two of my brothers and I slept right there, in the kitchen of the Ngomongo school, which had been divided into two: on one side, cooking took place, while the other had been turned into a small dormitory for the boys. We were not the only ones there; there were also two other boys from Korogocho who had nowhere to stay.
Do you think living at the school influenced your passion for teaching?
I don’t think so. I like to think that my passion for teaching is almost a “blessing” from my grandmother. On the very day I was born, a friend of hers who was a teacher died. According to traditional beliefs, reincarnation is real. I don’t really believe in most of these things, but, considering what happened and the things I was told, I am almost forced to think about it. My grandmother called me “teacher” from the time I was little. And she still calls me that today.
I, however, would never have imagined that I would actually end up teaching. I hated the idea of teaching. But after secondary school, I was asked to go and help at the school in Ngomongo. At the time, it was still small, and so I found myself teaching my brother too, who is now at university. At first, I didn’t take teaching too seriously. I thought: “I’m just helping out, maybe I’ll make some money, and then, when the time comes, I’ll go to university.” But I kept teaching.
I taught, and taught, and taught.
And perhaps precisely because of that “blessing” from my grandmother, little by little, teaching became a part of me. I didn’t expect it, but over time I began to build a connection with my students and, above all, to understand their past, because it is the same past I experienced in Korogocho, Kariobangi and Ngomongo. Life in the slum is hard, but you don’t realize it at the time. You only understand it later. As an adult, you think: “How did we survive all those things?” We had very poor meals. Sometimes, for an entire week, we would eat very little and always the same thing. But back then, it didn’t seem to bother me at all. I only started thinking about it when I got older.
Becoming a Teacher
So, as I was teaching, some of those memories began to resurface, and this pushed me to work even harder to help my students, to give them a better education and better opportunities.
Behind my work are sleepless nights, sacrifices and personal resources. I don’t say this to motivate others, although it might, but the more I talk about it, the more it motivates me to keep working. I started teaching with nothing. I am not a trained teacher, but I feel that I am a teacher by nature. I have managed to achieve exceptional results and help build exceptional character, even better than those of people trained to do exactly this job. It is really difficult. Many people try to tell me: “That’s enough. Take a break. Go and get some rest.” But I believe that passion only grows stronger.
I have met many students who live in Korogocho and Ngomongo and who face different challenges: health problems, mental health issues and many other difficulties. When we talk and share our experiences, we may be able to solve both problems in the classroom and those that exist outside the classroom. This makes me feel the need to keep helping them, to keep pushing them forward and giving them all the resources I have. Because I know exactly the kind of life they are living. It is almost the same life I used to live. And that is what keeps me going. If I see that there is an opportunity or a goal they can achieve through education, talent or any other ethical means, I truly want to see that dream become a reality.
That is why I continue to encourage, motivate and teach them. In fact, during my lessons, I teach for about 10% of the time. For the other 90%, I talk to them. It does not necessarily happen during class, but especially in the evening, when we are relaxed and can talk. We talk a lot. Rather than forcing them to learn, by opening a door for them and also opening their eyes, they themselves begin to see the opportunities and, at that point, everything becomes easier.
Some things have not changed: I hate teaching; I simply like helping, so if helping means teaching, then so be it.
University and Returning to School
In 2018, I started university, again in a rural area. I attended Maseno University, the only university on the Equator, where for four years I studied for a degree in Basic Science and General Science, focusing on physics, mathematics and chemistry. Obviously, whenever I returned to Nairobi, I continued teaching, just as I had done during secondary school.
I then attended university for a second time, for two years, to study Project Management. This experience gave me a great deal because it helped me understand how the limited resources we have can be used to create greater opportunities, build our vision and work towards a brighter future. It also helped me better understand my role at the Smiling Center and will make me a better manager in the future. In the meantime, from 2021 onwards, I had officially returned to the Smiling School as a teacher.
A School That Opens Doors
I am convinced that the creation of Smiling Junior Secondary School in Lucky Summer will truly open many doors.
Whenever I meet one of the students who attended the old Smiling School and sat their first national exams here, they keep telling me how lucky today’s students are because of the resources and facilities they have. And it is true. At the time, the school in Ngomongo did not even have electricity. Studying was very difficult. The same applies to the kind of life I lived: it was by no means easy to access the resources that the association makes available today. And I am not talking only about material resources. I am also talking about the kind of knowledge that students are exposed to.
Even today, given the current situation, there are schools in the slums that do not have the same resources and perhaps not even the same curriculum we have here to give these children opportunities to grow. Some students have never even touched a computer. Here, on the other hand, we have children who work on blogs almost every Friday. They write, take photographs, draw and imagine. Some of them know how to use cameras better than I do. If I had had an opportunity like this, I believe I could have done much better in my national exams as well. The lack or insufficiency of resources primarily limits students’ abilities. No matter how talented you may be, if you do not have the resources, it is truly difficult to express your full potential.
That is why I am truly happy that the students we have today are receiving this opportunity. And I pray that they will really, really make the most of it.
Today I teach mathematics, science, Kiswahili, social studies, pre-technical studies, agriculture, religious education, art and crafts, and English. And I continue to learn from my students. One of the greatest lessons they have taught me is patience. You really have to be patient because some things take time: seeing a student develop, moving from basic skills to more complex ones. Patience is a very important part of the strategy, and with time, everything falls into place.
Being in a classroom and trying to nurture a person’s mind and way of thinking requires you to sit down and take things slowly.
I believe another important word is passion. But also resilience, which I learn from the students.
This is my great story: one step at a time, one smile at a time.