Glossopdale School students return from Africa trip and here's what they had to say

Children from Glossopdale School returned from a trip to Kenya full of ideas and memories which will last a lifetime.

Here pupil Annabelle tells us about the trip and how it has changed her life.

“It’s something like one in the morning when we arrive, dazed yet excited, and step out of the confines of the cabin onto the boarding stairs. 

“The air hangs heavy, warm and thick with jet fuel. We bundle down the stairs, looking up to catch glimpses of what lies beyond the airport; distant lights beckon and flicker out as we descend onto the tarmac and are promptly jostled onto a shuttle bus. 

“Everyone scrambles for space and packs together. As we lurch about I’m reminded of the London buses and their tendency to attack corners like F1 racers. 

“The shuttle screeches to a halt and with bleary eyes, we totter off it and into an almost empty passport control area. 

“One of the first things I remember upon entering Kenya was the man in the currency exchange shop who, upon seeing us, jumped to stand on his chair and began proudly displaying his ‘exchange money here’ sign, albeit upside down, and remained in that position for a good ten minutes, with unwavering enthusiasm, while the female worker beside him shot him distasteful looks and probably told him to get down.

“After what seemed like an eternity our entire convoy made it through passport control; by now the groans for sleep had risen to a pinnacle and the proceeding luggage collection went relatively quickly, soon enough we all stood outside the airport and found ourselves in a different world entirely: the first thing to mention was the café directly outside the airport ‘kosta kaffee’ which gave us some amusement, the second was a large billboard captioned ‘never worry about power surges again!’, advertising some kind of UPS device. 

“This struck me as odd, mainly because it seemed so strange to see a device advertised for a problem that was pretty much unheard of in the UK. 

“For us ‘power surges’ were an alien event. This was the first sign that Kenya would be a far cry from home, the second sign came in the form of our transportation; a church bus was probably the last thing any of us expected but nevertheless we piled on drowsily; throwing carry-ons wherever they would go and slumping down, only to sit bolt upright after the first pothole.

“Night seemed to cast a mask over Nairobi, all that could be seen was what the floodlights allowed, leaving the horizon in murky shadow. 

“The dark sent the outside world out of focus, only to be caught in glimpses of bespattered light; billboards and cars rushed past in streams of desaturated colour, as did the few construction workers and late-night wanderers. 

“What was set to be a five-minute journey seemed to stretch for half an hour, but at this point nobody cared; those who were still awake enough sat with their faces pressed against the window to view a city vividly different from any familiar one. 

“Sky scrapers, hotels, or any ‘tall’ buildings were few and far between; there appeared to be construction happening everywhere and the number of JCB diggers was unparalleled.

“It wouldn’t be until day that we would see Nairobi in its fullest form, a city bursting with colour and life, for now, as we hurtled down the motorway in our steel capsule, the city outside was limited to odd pools of light.

“What would have been our first ride in a matatu was an interesting one, upon finding that the buses seemed to be circa 1975, we quickly accepted that this was just how it was going to be, and silently prayed that the journey would be more comfortable than the bus looked! There was a great deal of enthusiasm on the ride to the school, which quickly turned to nervousness as we approached it. 

“Once there we filed off the bus, one by one.

“Out of the matatu and suddenly we became simply children in a foreign place; after only seeing the world from our steel bubble we finally became part of it; part of the sweeping colour and noise. 

“The sense of still looking at Kenya through a lens disintegrated and we are all at once left as simple skin and bone, without any metal barrier, standing with faces to the sun, becoming a part of a world that had previously only been seen from behind glass.

“So we stood, apprehensive, on a patch of yellow grass next to a corrugated iron fence that was probably once blue but now stood blue-ish under the sun’s glare. Then the sound of singing filled the air. A chorus of tiny voices, coming together to form a welcome chant.

“Ushered by the head teacher, and stooping to get under the gate (a panel cut from the corrugated iron) we were greeted by around twenty children, all about five years old, chanting and clapping along to a song which must have been rehearsed at least a dozen times.

“They all looked about as nervous as us; the chanting was accompanied by many tentative glances and one outburst of tears from the youngest.  

“We were later to find that this trepidation from the children came from the fact that our faces were the first ones with white skin they had ever seen!

“The first few moments were strange, we stood parallel to the group, taking in what little there was to take: three stone buildings, a dirt playground, and the children at the heart of it. 

“It was rudimentary, small, and yet it was an entire world in itself. That tiny plot of land brought with it the glimmer of opportunity and a spark of hope which seemed rare outside of the billboards that littered every main road.

“Once introduced to the children the afternoon passed by in fragments, glued together with fractures of sunlight and twinkling laughter. 

“The sky developed into a cerulean haze under which we sang and danced for a good hour, until eventually everyone branched off into smaller divisions to conduct little games or have their hair twisted into braids. The children had become less shy now; standing at least two per volunteer they came and went between us, doing this and that, playing with one volunteer’s hair and then going to look at Snapchat filters with another, before pining for a piggyback ride with a third.

“It felt odd to leave - like the five hours had stretched out into an one eternity before day passed us by, and so somehow we stood, once again, beside the waiting matatu, reluctant to leave but assured with the knowledge that there would always be tomorrow.”