So I’ve officially moved in with my new host family in Kibera. I remember Abdul excitedly telling me about how he’d found a young, wonderful family near Olympic (a part of Kibera) that would be willing to host me during my project. I remember being thankful but hesitant. I know people can make a decent living here in Kibera, and not all the structures here are shanties of mud and metal. But last time I was in Kenya, I wasn’t even comfortable enough to drink the water offered me here and every time I ate here I wondered if I would get sick and I was terrified every person I passed would rob me. I’ve come a long way, but am I ready to live here?
Well, Abdul was insistent and took me to visit the house of Abeyd and Asia on one of our first outings together. Asia wasn’t there for my first visit but sounded great. She is a young social worker who conducts civic education workshops around Nairobi. Abeyd was kind and business-like and seemingly quite well off. Driving his car to pick us, he pointed out the house of his
other wife on the way. This was intriguing to me, but to others I’m sure a tad too different from the norm to be comfortable. Mariam, a twelve year old in Class 6, was home sick from school and politely served us soda while I visited. Her little brother, Abdulrahman (GD for short) is 8 years old in Class 3 but was not there for my visit. Upon meeting Asia another day, we instantly connected. She is energetic, charismatic and seemingly liberal and modern for being one of two wives.
And as for my concerns about living in Kibera, I decided to be abrupt with my questions. Running water? Reliable electricity? Non-squat toilets? My own room? Safety in the neighborhood? The ‘me’ of last time in Kenya would have been too shy or guilty to ask for these American niceties. But hey, I’m going to live here and I’m undeniably American, so the ‘me’ of today decided that it was better unashamedly ask for these luxuries rather than tough it out to be polite. I was even up-front about paying. Of course I can’t expect to stay for free, but Kenyans are too polite to pull out the business talk on first meeting, so I decided to be the abrupt one. But everything went fine and all their answers sounded good. So I decided to move. I was distraught to leave the comfort and love of
my family, Monica and Chippa. But after all, I’m here for a project, so my location can’t hamper how much I can do at the school and Kariakor is too far.
So here I am, moving in midday on a Wednesday. The kids are at school; Abeyd and Asia at work; so I meet Solemi, the house help (maid) from Uganda. Most house helpers don’t know English so I’m ecstatic to become best friends and improve my Kiswahili. But simultaneously Solemi is ecstatic to meet me to improve her English. So as she ironed clothes I kept her company continually chatting in Kiswahili with her agitatedly trying to direct the conversation to English. So we bantered back and forth continually trying to change the language until eventually, we’d both be unable to express ourselves or understand the other on the current topic, at which point conversation would chug to an awkward halt. I’d pretend to be preoccupied looking out the window and she would intensely concentrate on ironing until one of us decided to try out a new topic. I can tell we’re going to be best friends.
Then I end up passing out for an unexpected nap while reading my book. I hear a doorbell in my sleep and later am shocked awake by Mariam poking her head into the room, eyes wide to see this crazy msungu addition to her family. So I go downstairs to spend time watching cartoons with the kids and am interested to see
Where in the World is Carmen San Diego on the TV. I used to watch that!
I realize all too quickly that the silent, polite Mariam of last time was the Mariam-around-adults personality. Here at her mercy with only Solemi and little GD, I got a much more uncensored variety of Mariam. Our conversation went a little like this…
“What type of music do you just
love, Anne?”
“Oh I don’t know, I like almost anything. Here in Kenya I like the Tanzanian music and those guys from Nigeria—“
“Well for me, I like
crrrrunk.”
“Oh… what type of music is crunk, exactly?”
“Oh you know, like Kiss FM and this other channel, Hits 105”
“Um… you mean hip hop?”
“Not hip hop! Crunk is more like, you know, the rappers are so constantly rapping.” This is sounding like hip hop to me, but Mariam excitedly changes the channel to show me some music videos of this crunk she loves. She settles on the station playing some Brandy.
“This is crunk?”
Mariam says incredulously, “This is not crunk!! This is R&B, crunk is different. But for me, you know I want to be a musician.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, like my favorite artist, my most, most favorite artist is this Justin Beiber. You know he’s only 16? So amazing. I don’t know how he goes to school and sings so nicely and is so famous all at the same time,” Mariam waves her hands for emphasis.
“You know, I bet he doesn’t go to school.”
-gasp- “What? How terrible. For me, education is so important, I would never do that. He should go to school.”
Taking a chance to try to be a good influence I start, “Yea education really is imp—”
But I’m totally cut off by Mariam excitedly diving into a new topic, “You know, so many artists are
devil worshippers,” she says with so much distaste she’s almost spitting, “like Beyonce, you know she is the
worst devil worshipper...”
“Whaaa? Where did you hear th— ”
“And Rhianna and Jay-Z and… You know that song ‘Run this Town’? What they really mean is that they will rule the town with the
devil,” again Mariam is getting physically affected by the intensity of what she’s talking about.
“Really, wow, well we really don’t think that back in the US, maybe that’s just one interpreta— ”
Never allowed to finish a thought she continues my music re-education. “Yes and all these artists confess they are in fact devil worshippers, and they all say it’s because of Jay-Z, you know he converted them.” Taking the hit to Jay-Z a little bit too personally I’m getting a bit agitated now, but she continues, “You know he gave this concert and everyone was bowing. They were saying he was
Jehovah!” She looks agast.
Not knowing where she’s getting these facts, I decide to start taking a stand. “Where are you hearing this? I’ve never heard of anything else like this, I would know because I’m from Amer—” Yes, writing this now I guess I’m disgusted with myself for pulling the America card, and for a kid, nonetheless, but I’m starting to get really uncomfortable here.
“Well its all over Facebook!”
“You know you can’t believe everything on Facebook.”
“I know there are rumors! I’ve heard rumors about Obama being a devil worshipper too!—” she pauses for us to share in our shock, “yes, but I said, no, no, no, this can’t be true because if he were really a devil worshipper, Michelle would have left him, of course.”
“How do you know she’s not a devil worshipper too?”
“Well she’s not.”
Infallible logic. What was I thinking, of course she’s not.
She continues, “Well like Rhianna, she was a devil worshipper so Chris Brown beat her. I mean I would too” again she’s getting physically into what she’s saying, motioning out beating someone with an angry expression on her face.
So my jaw is dropped and now I just can’t take it anymore. I should be a cultural observer and not intervene, but this girl is justifying a man
beating his girlfriend?! “I’m sorry Mariam, I don’t care what Rhianna was doing with the devil, there is no way he should beat her—” she tries to interrupt but I’m not having it, I’m raising my voice to a little kid now, repeating myself like a broken record, I feel like such a fool.
Now she’s agreeing with me, like kids who agree with people they’re trying to impress. Agreeing as if we had never disagreed, she continues on about Jay-Z.
“I like Jay-Z, he’s my favorite,” I interrupt, getting petty now.
She just changes pop icons, “And Lady Gaga” she hisses. “She sings this song about Alejandro—”
“Oh yea, my favorite song?” I pretend as if I don’t know where this is going. And she continues as if I hadn’t said anything. “That Lady Gaga, the things she wears, she is so
naked. And she wears black and white, you know that means she’s a devil worshipper.”
Honestly not knowing this, I decide to dangerously bring me, an atheist with an intense distaste for any type of religious evangelism, into the picture. I mean, if she’s going to kick me out, or beat me as it seems she is fond of, I might as well get that over with sooner rather than later. “So I like black and white, does that make me a devil worshipper?”
“Oh no, no, no, you are good.” —phew, so she won’t be killing me in my sleep. As we continue to watch ‘crunk’ music on the TV, full of scantily clad ladies dancing and men touching women sexually, she doesn’t seem phased by this, and returns to her rant on Lady Gaga’s attire, “You know Lady Gaga isn’t the only one, ladies now days, they wear tights and a top and they go out! In public! Have they no shame?!” I think to myself of how tights and tops are in my suitcase right now and how I had intended to wear something like that out next Friday. I mentally cross that event off my calendar and forget about wearing my soffe shorts and camis for pajamas.
Then I learn that she will be sharing a room with me. After gritting my teeth holding in the explosion of emotions for a good few minutes, I patiently inquire about this. “I do believe your father said you’d be staying in the room with your mother, that I’d be staying in this room alone,” I say trying to be clear but polite.
“Oh no, you can never stay alone.”
“Actually I think I can.”
“Don’t you get scared?”
“Actually, I get scared when I am sleeping with someone else,” I blatantly lie.
“No, no, I’ll stay here.”
Again I patiently wait for the fury to dissipate before continuing, “I think, Mariam, you may be right, I may be wrong. But I think we all agreed I’d stay here alone. And its not that I don’t like you, we’ll still spend a lot of time together but you know…” I continue babbling excuses but she stays focused on the TV to try to hide her obvious disagreement.
I’m immediately regretting my relocation and wanting to hug Chippa and never let him go the next time I see him. Maybe we’ll sing to Lady Gaga and watch some Jerry Springer together, rejoicing in our non-judgmental sibling relationship, celebrating our similarities.
Throughout my dialogue with this feisty sixth grader, I learn about the entire family’s love for Michael Jackson. Even Solemi and GD are dancing along to ‘Bad’ while Mariam describes that she would
murder, yes murder, anyone who called him a devil worshiper. I’m getting confused about the criteria for a devil worshipper as MJ grabs his junk and does intense pelvic thrusts that Mariam classifies as “amazing dancing”. Then Keri Hilson comes on afterwards literally wearing nothing but a U-shaped cloth that barely covers her and Mariam talks about how Michael Jackson must have taught her how to dance because they’re both so good. During this confusing and assaulting conversation I managed to defiantly throw in some daring contradictory philosophies, “I think people should be allowed to believe what they wish” and “Maybe not everything on the internet is true” and “Perhaps we shouldn’t murder people”… but she just keeps going.
Hours later, the firing squad of one is finished with this conversation. I escape up to what I thought was my room and pull out my computer to write down as much of this ridiculousness as possible so that I don’t forget it. Ten minutes later, in pops Mariam. I pretend I’m playing solitaire. Mariam says she’s bad at the game, but is instructing me, pointing viscously at my screen and I wince every time. Pretty soon I decide my computer will be less harmed if I just let her at the controls. I relax as she’s preoccupied, and cute, little,
quiet GD is adorably watching over her shoulder and humming Michael Jackson.
Then its dinner time. Asia and Abeyd are both hard workers and get home late, so I get ready to take dinner with the kids. Solemi brings out a tray with three covered plates on it, one bigger than the other two. I think to myself, how cute one for me and two little ones for the two little kids. Nope, they’re all for me, the kids will eat later.
After dinner I’m saved by Abeyd. Asia won’t be home for a while so she suggested I go with Abeyd to the grocery store. I’m confused by the invitation a bit seeing as it’s after dark and unsafe outside, but I’m just ecstatic to escape Mariam’s clutches. He says he’ll point out the places that are safe or unsafe along the way so that I’ll know where not to be after certain hours. Here is where the gangs hang out, there is where they are known to be able to afford guns, here is a houserobbery section… shoot, where was the safe part again? This tour is just really uncomfortable. Then we turn a direction that I know is not to Nakumatt Prestige, the grocery store. Then we get out of the car and start walking down an alley, “We’re visiting Asia’s cousin, we do this charity work and I need to look at some documents.”
Charity work, my ass, you’re walking me down an alley on an unexpected stop in an area you said was notorious for gangs and I don’t even know you and all these students have been raped by host brothers and fathers before and I’ve heard the stories and my heart is thumping and I should have brought a key or something sharp and
why am I still following him again?? But then we see this lady and her kid outside the house and they welcome us in so I’m feeling better. The whole family is inside and after I stop hyperventilating, I realize he really is here to discuss some documents about their charity work. Also surprising, this family is the first Kenyan family I’ve ever seen to have a pet cat. And they keep it indoors. So I preoccupy myself trying to befriend the cat without getting rabies while the members of the family look at me like I'm crazy and eventually we leave.
Poor Abeyd, shopping with him was like taking a ride on the struggle bus. He’s shopping for two households, keeping the items separate in the cart. He’s constantly getting a little disoriented as to which isle he’s going to and continually consulting little lists he’d received through SMS on his phone. He needs a certain type of tea leaf for Asia because she’s allergic, Adija likes her bread slightly burnt, Asia prefers this brand brand of soap, Adija needs milk, GD likes peanuts, Adijas son likes potato crisps… I mean… jeez he’s got a lot to keep track of. Eventually we make it out and arrive home.
There is Asia exhausted on the couch from a long days work. She is absolutely beautiful, as a side note, not wearing her shawl/veil, and the kids seem to have gone to bed. I’ve never been so happy to see someone as I am now. We all sit together and sip tea and discuss Sudanese politics and watch the news and talk about New Mexico and joke. I am loving every moment of my company and conversation, wishing they hadn’t had kids. I happen to delicately address my assault earlier on.
I mention the devil worshipping—“Jeez sometimes, you just can’t raise kids. They get this crazy stuff from other kids at school,” Abeyd assures me.
I question the sleeping arrangement and they laugh—“No that is not what we’re doing, maybe wishful thinking on her part but no, she’ll be sleeping with me,” says Asia.
I sigh in relief and we head up to bed. Kids are crazy. I bet Mariam thought she would impress me with her strict conviction, her moral fervor. But wow, was she overdid that one. I’ll stick this out for now; I think she’ll cool down when I’m not so new and exciting. I have my doubts, but one thing is for sure. In the future, that time between the end of school and dinner time will be spent out of the house.
I also have made some important discoveries and connections that are helping me to redirect the solar project in a more effective and sustainable direction. My first discovery was rather disheartening, but vital to my project’s success. Byronnes Khianga, a previous teacher at the school and Electrical Engineering graduate, heard about my project and wanted to introduce me to a close friend of his who is in the “solar business”. It was a typical Kenyan meeting in that this solar friend was late to our appointment, so late in fact he never showed up. So Byronnes friend’s son showed us the solar products his father was selling. I expected this connection to lead to a new source of raw materials that could help us lower the cost of production of our lamps, but this man didn’t sell raw materials, he sold already manufactured versions of our product. He sold 4 different versions of our lamps: all slightly different in design and of different sizes, all in flashy plastic cases with impressively constructed external panels, all imported from factories in India, all significantly cheaper than we could ever possibly offer. So after the initial impulse to cry and wallow in self pity, Byronnes and I talked things over and decided on a redirection.
But I realize that boosting women in science is not all I can do with my time here. I’ve been meeting with other organizations and people working in Kenya and have been collecting ideas for how to improve KGSA. 
3) Revamp the student groups and promote student leadership. The many extracurriculars at KGSA have a mixed record of success. In one hand we have the Journalism Club: an entirely student run “Junior Achievement Company” that publishes a quarterly magazine about Kibera and the school. The magazine is sold around Kibera and internationally online. But on the other hand, we have the Science Club, the Human Rights Club, the Scouting Club… all unfunded clubs that, as far as I know, do little more than exist at KGSA. Perhaps these clubs are just another part of KGSA I know little about and they actually are active and functional, but I doubt it. I feel that with a little attention and funding, these clubs could blossom into something as great as the Journalism Club. Also, when I wonder about how I can help the school, I often think to myself that maybe the girls themselves have the best idea. There is a complicated system of class prefects and student leadership that I barely understand, but I haven’t seen too much evidence of the girls being involved in the planning of how to improve KGSA. I feel that this student leadership would help Abdul and Teka who are always busy planning things for the school, but could also be valuable experience for the girls. 
The walk from my home to the school weaves through backroads and neighborhoods that show me new flavors of life in Kibera. I walk past gaggles of unemployed men who day after day just sit idly, chewing mirra leaves, waiting for life to change. I walk past ladies selling vegetables or electronic parts, men pulling carts of water jugs or trash bags—doing anything that pays. I walk down the railroad and am struck by a spectacular view of Kibera, hills and hills of sheet metal stretching as far as the eye can see.
And I walk right past the heart of the post-election violence of December 2007. I see the open space where political rallies started then and are still commonly held now. I see the remnants of houses that have been burnt to the ground and covered in graffiti. Unsurprisingly, the previous inhabitants of the burnt houses were Kikuyus—the tribe of President Mwai Kibaki who many think unrightfully won the election. The violence dissipated when the Luo runner up, Raila Odinga, became Prime Minister. But as is the case with most African coalition governments, it appears as if “Prime Minister” is more of a title than a true governing position. But despite the current peace, those burnt homes are not rebuilt, those inhabitants have not felt safe enough to return, and displaced people still live in tents in the rural areas. 
Coming August 4th, Kenya will vote again. This time it is a referendum vote on a new constitution written to help reduce corruption. I have considered vacationing to my old homestay in Kariakor for the vote just to make sure I’m out of the warzone, but I don’t expect history to repeat itself here. The referendum seems to have at least 70% of Kenyans in favor, with the division seemingly less tribal. And more importantly most politicians are in support of it. So with the “corruptors” on the majority side, I don’t see a huge incentive to rig the results. And without rigged results, I don’t expect such violence to return to Kibera. 
And Kenyans are committed to keeping the peace after this election. “Katiba Mpya, Kenya Moja”, meaning “New Constitution, One Kenya”, is a popular slogan for the Yes campaign. Other non-partisan advertisements show pictures of the 2007 violence and say “whichever way you vote on August 4th… never again”. Then my favorite peace advertiser, a local artist called Solo 7, is all over Kibera once again. After the 2007 election, Solo 7 painted the words “Keep Peace” in hundreds of places around Kibera. But as I walk my old routes in Kibera and discover new ones, I realize that Solo 7 is back at it again. I find notes like “Vote Peacefully, Kenya” and “Chagua Katiba kwa Amani” (Vote for the constitution with Peace) around in his familiar handwriting and I’m warmed by his mysterious messages.
As for my living situation, things have certainly calmed down since the devil worshipping shindig. The next day they finished exams so I picked them up from school and we went for ice cream and got ingredients to make guacamole. Miriam went nuts, hugging me like we were best friends and hadn’t seen each other for years. She trotted me around her school making sure everyone in her class saw her msungu sister. We came home and ate our snack in front of the typical music videos and after that Miriam lost interest in me pretty quickly. 
Then his worst habit is that he’s an early bird and wants to spread the joy. At 7am on a Saturday, I startle from a dream and BAM he’s right there sitting on my bed, patiently waiting for me to get out of bed. I was surprisingly patient with him that time and when I eventually decide I can’t go back to sleep, I follow him down for breakfast. Then today, I’m struggling with some allergies or a cold, but I open my eyes at 7:30am and he’s sitting there again, this time at my desk silently messing around with my little alarm clock. This time it’s not so cute: I feel terrible, I wanted to sleep in today and so I tell him to leave. He does, but comes back in and I open my eyes to see him there again. So then I’m a little harsher and he leaves for good, but leaves the door open. With the noise from the TV and from people in the kitchen and other life going on in the house, I realize I just can’t sleep in. 
Asia works a lot but things are getting a little less busy as her social work organization runs out of funding for the season and the school she works at closes after exams. My new home is a lot busier and noisier. Asia always has music playing (which is usually a good thing) and she loves to go out dancing. With Salomi only speaking Swahili and with the kids loving to speak to me in Swahili, I’m getting a lot better at it. The other day in the matatu, we were stopped at my stage and I was getting off with some other people. But before I had gotten out, the traffic cleared so the driver started driving and I yelled at them to stop there in Swahili, nothing fancy. Not only did they stop to let me out, but everyone in the matatu turned to look at me incredulously. As I got out the driver was saying “Ngai! Msungu anasema Swahili?” (Shoot! The white girl speaks Swahili?) I was pretty pleased with myself.
The living here is pretty much the same as Kariakor except for a little excitement we had the last couple of days. Someone stole or tampered with the transistor that supplies electricity to my block. Evidently some oil that is in the transistor is incredibly valuable, so people steal it and sometimes are burned or electrocuted in the process. Then instead of promptly coming to fix it, the Nairobi Electricity Company dragged their feet waiting for residents to bribe them to fix it faster. I was happy to see Asia giving them a piece of her mind instead of giving them a wad of cash. But despite her angry efforts, we were out of power for 3½, almost 4 days. Take from that what you will: money talks.
So I’ve officially moved in with my new host family in Kibera. I remember Abdul excitedly telling me about how he’d found a young, wonderful family near Olympic (a part of Kibera) that would be willing to host me during my project. I remember being thankful but hesitant. I know people can make a decent living here in Kibera, and not all the structures here are shanties of mud and metal. But last time I was in Kenya, I wasn’t even comfortable enough to drink the water offered me here and every time I ate here I wondered if I would get sick and I was terrified every person I passed would rob me. I’ve come a long way, but am I ready to live here?
Well, Abdul was insistent and took me to visit the house of Abeyd and Asia on one of our first outings together. Asia wasn’t there for my first visit but sounded great. She is a young social worker who conducts civic education workshops around Nairobi. Abeyd was kind and business-like and seemingly quite well off. Driving his car to pick us, he pointed out the house of his other wife on the way. This was intriguing to me, but to others I’m sure a tad too different from the norm to be comfortable. Mariam, a twelve year old in Class 6, was home sick from school and politely served us soda while I visited. Her little brother, Abdulrahman (GD for short) is 8 years old in Class 3 but was not there for my visit. Upon meeting Asia another day, we instantly connected. She is energetic, charismatic and seemingly liberal and modern for being one of two wives. 
And as for my concerns about living in Kibera, I decided to be abrupt with my questions. Running water? Reliable electricity? Non-squat toilets? My own room? Safety in the neighborhood? The ‘me’ of last time in Kenya would have been too shy or guilty to ask for these American niceties. But hey, I’m going to live here and I’m undeniably American, so the ‘me’ of today decided that it was better unashamedly ask for these luxuries rather than tough it out to be polite. I was even up-front about paying. Of course I can’t expect to stay for free, but Kenyans are too polite to pull out the business talk on first meeting, so I decided to be the abrupt one. But everything went fine and all their answers sounded good. So I decided to move. I was distraught to leave the comfort and love of my family, Monica and Chippa. But after all, I’m here for a project, so my location can’t hamper how much I can do at the school and Kariakor is too far.
Then I end up passing out for an unexpected nap while reading my book. I hear a doorbell in my sleep and later am shocked awake by Mariam poking her head into the room, eyes wide to see this crazy msungu addition to her family. So I go downstairs to spend time watching cartoons with the kids and am interested to see Where in the World is Carmen San Diego on the TV. I used to watch that! 
Hours later, the firing squad of one is finished with this conversation. I escape up to what I thought was my room and pull out my computer to write down as much of this ridiculousness as possible so that I don’t forget it. Ten minutes later, in pops Mariam. I pretend I’m playing solitaire. Mariam says she’s bad at the game, but is instructing me, pointing viscously at my screen and I wince every time. Pretty soon I decide my computer will be less harmed if I just let her at the controls. I relax as she’s preoccupied, and cute, little, quiet GD is adorably watching over her shoulder and humming Michael Jackson.
I sigh in relief and we head up to bed. Kids are crazy. I bet Mariam thought she would impress me with her strict conviction, her moral fervor. But wow, was she overdid that one. I’ll stick this out for now; I think she’ll cool down when I’m not so new and exciting. I have my doubts, but one thing is for sure. In the future, that time between the end of school and dinner time will be spent out of the house.
So on Saturday, the girls had a soccer match. After all it is the Kibera Girls Soccer Academy, and I was excited to see the girls play. The girls were in the quarter finals of some on-going tournament of all the Nairobi schools. KGSA is the only private school in the tournament, and doing really well. We killed the other team four-nil. Some of the girls on the other team were clearly frustrated, two getting yellow cards for deliberate fouls and unsportsmanlike conduct. But despite their bad sportsmanship, I felt pretty bad for the other team. They just looked out of control and helpless, and our girls clearly had some technical skill. I’m not surprised knowing how seriously our coaching staff takes the game, the school and the girls. Head coach Moha showed up in a bright white suit and tie, spot-able from anywhere on the fields.
They traveled all the way from Kibera to some fields just down the street from my home in Kariakor. The fields were part of Starehe Boys’ School, one of the best public schools for boys in Nairobi. It was so silly and cute to see all these boys in their flashy suits with Starehe emblems watching girls play futbol and even flirting with them awkwardly after the game. It was a subtle reminder that these girls are in high school. Seeing them only in class and with all the differences between their education and mine, I forget they are going through some of the same cute innocent high school drama and excitement that I did. 
KGSA even made a point to bring all of Class 1 and 2 (freshman and sophomores) to cheer on the team, on a Saturday when girls could have been doing other things. Principal Teca was telling me as he was distributing snacks and watching the girls socialize with students from other schools, “They don’t get out much like this, outings like these are really special.” True, that. School here is more than a full time job and relaxing doesn’t seem to be part of the job description. While technically school is only M-F 8am-4pm, and technically school closes for holidays from time to time, you’ll find these girls here at 6:30am, on Saturdays, even Sundays and often during holidays. And I’m not talking about just a few crazy over-achievers, I’m talking about all of them. These girls practically live in their uniforms. I was happy to just relax with them on the sideline and see some of the girls I used to teach math to rip up the soccer field. They were incredibly impressive.
