Graduating from Home Economics

Home economics class was mandatory for girls when I was in 7^th grade. Boys took shop. It was the 1970s, and I lived in Middle America. There we were at the height of the feminist movement, and what were we doing? The boys were making bookshelves and using a soldering iron, while the girls were making white sauce, pulling an elastic through a skirt waistband, and making sure our soup was served “piping hot.”

As it happens, my mother, grandmother, aunts, and cousins were all remarkable cooks and seamstresses. So, long before I’d walked through the doors of West Junior High School, I’d learned how to sew, cook, and knit.  More importantly, I could make a multicolored vest out of crocheted squares. This was very hip.

So, I really resented the fact that I had to take home ec. The teacher was a priss, and though probably in her late 20s, she seemed to cling to a vision of womanhood that was at least two decades behind the times.

Reforms came a year or so later, when pressure from the girls convinced the school administration to drop the gender requirements and let everyone choose between shop and home economics. By the time we got to high school, things had really improved. The domestic science classes had become electives, more practical, and open to anyone. They also touted perky new names like: Know Your Auto (a hit with the girls); Let’s Cook! (surprisingly popular with the boys); and Ready, Set, Sew!

The irony of all this is that historically, home economics was an incredibly progressive and feminist field of study, developed to get women into higher education and leadership positions. Known initially as domestic science, it became a real stepping stone for 19^th century women’s entry into serious careers (e.g., teaching or work in agricultural extension services, state and federal governments, industry, hospitals, restaurants, and hotels) thanks to the establishment of the land grant college system in 1862. Unlike private colleges, which largely excluded female students, the land grant institutions were coed and publicly funded. Courses in home economics were targeted at farm wives and focused on household management. The instruction was far more interdisciplinary (and interesting) than the kind of stuff they were serving up in my day. Topics included budgeting, consumer economics, nutrition, child development, fiber science (!), and agriculture.

In the mid-1990s, the term “home economics” was dropped in favor of a new term, “family and consumer science.” The change is supposed to reflect the fact that the field has once again moved beyond cooking and sewing to regain some of its former relevance.

Meanwhile, I’m now in my fifties. In all the years that have passed since my 7^th grade home ec class, I have never worried about whether or not the soup I was serving was “piping hot”.  I’ve cooked meals, hosted parties, sewn lots of Halloween and other costumes, accumulated advanced degrees, balanced work and family life, and served in senior management positions.

But now, more than ever, I could use guidance in the domestic science department.  I could use the steady, stern hand with which my grandmother, and even one of my aunts, used to manage a part of their household that I’ve only encountered in recent years – the domestic staff. Until I moved abroad, it just wasn’t part of the curriculum, in school or in life.

Hiring and managing household staff comes with the territory when you are an expat in a developing country. Labor is cheap, and you are an important source of employment. But to me, it’s very different from managing staff at work. It’s literally close to home, and far more invasive than office politics. So I’m learning by doing. And if I occasional blunder, well, at least I can make a white sauce.

Our expat kitchen

Playground Bullies

Most of the time, I try to stay positive about living in Kenya. You meet incredible people. There is a remarkable drive, level of entrepreneurship, and energy for modernizing this country and making it better. The land is beautiful, and the potential for wonder and adventure is huge.

But then there are times, like earlier this week, where frustration and despair take the forefront.

On January 19, Kenyan police fired teargas at a group of young children in Nairobi, who were protesting a land grab scheme that was taking away their school’s playground. The story made the international press. Here was a situation so egregious and disgraceful that not even the heavy hands of corruption and power could put a lid on it. 

According to the news stories, the children returned from Christmas break – prolonged by a two-week strike by underpaid teachers – to find that walls had been erected to block their access to the empty field that constituted their playground. Presumably, some wealthy, private individual (some say a leading politician) had acquired the land to make a parking lot. 

source: http://www.sbs.com.au/news/article/2015/01/19/kenya-police-tear-gas-school-children-playground-protest

 The kids, their teachers, and some other concerned adults began banging on the wall in protest. Ultimately, they managed to push down a section using sticks and sheer will. But this was not before armed police had been called in, and decided to shoot canisters of tear gas at the protestors. They also brought in fierce-looking police dogs. Mind you, we are talking about a primary school, where the kids are aged 6 to 13 years. Ten or so of them ended up in hospital. Many more could be seen crying, choking, and trying to rinse out their eyes. If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of tear gas, you’ll understand. It’s nasty stuff.

The disputed land is public, as is the primary school that sits on it. The story of public land getting into private hands through dubious means is hardly new or unusual here in Kenya. It’s just that this case was a particularly nasty and obvious example of greed, corruption, and abuse on the part of the power elite and heavy-handed police force – ills that all too often come down hardest on the backs of the poorest and most powerless.

Because of its high visibility, this story has a positive outcome, at least for the time being. After the requisite finger pointing and gnashing of teeth – not to mention attempts to blame the parents and teachers for “inciting” the protest – government officials from the president on down condemned the actions. They suspended the police officer in charge of the tear gas decision and issued formal apologies. The Land Ministry has officially declared that the playground belongs to the school and brought in grading machines to make it more usable.

According to several news venues, including an NPR report by Gregory Warner, this story is being seen as something of a triumph for the little guys. Noting that it’s not how these stories usually end, Warner sites an example of potential positive spillover from this ordeal:

“(…) In a different part of the city, I saw another victory for the public. I passed another prime piece of real estate with a private developer's illegal fence around it. Government bulldozers were destroying the fence, reclaiming public land, to a surprised and swelling crowd. It seemed that, at least for now, the school kids in Nairobi had won more than just their own playground.”

But questions remain. How many other land grabbing schemes remain under the radar of popular outcry. Who is paying for the health and hospital care of those injured by the teargas? Will the team of 11 lawyers set up by the Law Society of Kenya to try to prosecute the perpetrators of the police brutality make any headway?

If the aftermath of the incompetence and violations displayed by Kenyan military and law enforcement officials during the Westgate terrorist siege is any indication, truth and fairness will remain elusive.  Secrecy and cover up will continue to rule the day. And #Occupy Playground will be graded over like so many uneven clumps of grassy fields.