Inner-City Boys Enter New World at Experimental African School

When Antoine Lewis surveys his new world, he sees dry plains, scrubby thorn trees, Mount Kenya--and hope.

Last year, he and the 17 other boys at a new experimental school in the Kenyan highlands were staring down the killing streets of inner-city Baltimore, marginal middle school students whose future was circumscribed by violence and despair.

Then, a businessman with African connections suggested that for boys who wanted a change and whose parents were willing to take the risk, there could be a new start in Africa.

When he arrived at the 50-acre Baraka School in September, Lewis wanted to turn right around and leave. He missed his family and friends. The school was in the middle of nowhere. The routine was tough. And there was no TV.

Now, the poised, intent 12-year-old is the reigning chess champion, he has made great strides in reading and comprehension, and he wants to return next year to complete the two-year middle school program.

“I want to succeed. I think I can, and this is definitely the place for me,” he said.

All but one of the boys--African Americans ranging in age from 12 to 14--come from families where no father is present and which have been touched directly by violence. Friends and relatives have been shot. Some have died.

The school’s director, Chris Doherty, and housefather Eric Rowe say the boys have problems with male authority figures.

Doherty’s wife, Laura Rice, runs the school curriculum. Rowe’s wife, Sherrie, is the housemother. The Dohertys are white; the Rowes are black. They openly express affection for each other and appreciation for the boys--who call them Mr. and Mrs.

School manager Susan Kikwai, a Kenyan social worker with a decade of experience in Baltimore, said the boys were not accustomed to seeing couples treat each other well.

“It is changing their views on relationships in a positive way,” she said.

Although the school is in the heart of rural Africa--surrounded by an electrified fence to keep out wild animals as well as cattle--it is not intended primarily as a meeting ground between the young Americans and their African roots.

Established by the Abell Foundation of Baltimore, the Baraka School is meant to be a place where 7th- and 8th-grade boys from the inner city can find the time and professional attention to acquire the skills and discipline they will need to succeed in high school back in Baltimore.

“Here, they can’t fake it. They’re very far from home,” said Doherty, a no-nonsense disciplinarian who coaches the boys in basketball and chess.

Rowe, a graduate student who knows about life on the streets, added: “This experience will set them apart from the pack. They’re already starting to think about what they’ll do later.”

But he also worries about what happens when the boys return to Baltimore for the summer break.

“Will they come back?” he asked.

Back in Baltimore, that is also a concern for the mothers who have sent their sons away to escape the dangers of the projects.

“We’re right in the heart of crime infestation, right in the midst of drugs. You open your door and you see junkies,” said Hilda Lloyd, whose son, Kristopher, is at Baraka.

Although she misses Kristopher, Lloyd is happy she let him go.

Kristopher “has learned how to take care of himself, the basics in housekeeping,” she said. “He has mastered his academic schedule. He’s learned order. He’s learned a set program.”

That is a big step for youngsters who knew only the tough life of American ghettos.

Indeed, three of the original 21 boys--chosen from a field of 45--were sent home for disciplinary reasons shortly after arriving. Their lack of self-control threatened the success of the other boys.

Looking like so many Kenyan students in their rust-colored shorts, white shirts and navy pullovers, the boys follow a rigorous routine that kicks off at 6:30 a.m., when the birds begin to twitter as the sun rises behind snowcapped Mount Kenya.

It ends 14 hours later, after a 90-minute study hall. In between, they study English, science, mathematics, history, reading, chess and Swahili and play basketball, volleyball and soccer.

The school has three cinder-block classrooms with video equipment and blackboards. The doors are open to four puppies who curl up under the desks. The Dohertys, the Rowes, Kikwai and a Kenyan math teacher are the staff.

Doherty, a former Foreign Service officer, says homesickness and loneliness have been real problems.

“We were expecting the absolute worst for Christmas,” he said, but the big day was a great success, even if one bag of gifts from Baltimore did get stuck in customs at Nairobi airport.

The boys had never written letters--several could not compose a sentence when they arrived. Now, they write to family and friends and wait eagerly for someone to return from Nanyuki, a half-hour’s drive away, with the mail. Some have received letters from their fathers, with whom they have had little or no previous contact.

There is no telephone at Baraka School, no fax and no television. On Saturday nights, the boys get to watch a video and drink a soda.

They sleep four to a room in the main adobe building that also serves as dining room, lounge and recreation area.

Before arriving in Kenya, the boys had no notion of Africa other than as a place of wild animals. Now, they are familiar with the game research station at neighboring Mpala Ranch.

The ranch is owned by Baltimore businessman George Small, who suggested having the school in Africa, where lower costs make the program possible. The Abell Foundation has put in $360,000. Each boy is on a scholarship whose annual cost, including round-trip air fare, is figured at $10,000 each.

Contact with Kenyan youngsters has been limited because of time and distance. But the boys are striving to learn soccer--which they had never played before--after a thrashing by a team from a boarding school in the area.

And they have won over the people on neighboring farms and ranches, many of whom, Kikwai said, feared in the beginning that Baraka would be “a school for gangsters.”

Americans may not know much about Africa or Kenya, but thanks to films and television, Kenyans perceive the United States to be a particularly violent country and young black males as the most violent.

Youthful energy that could explode in Baltimore is channeled into studies and physical activities. All but two of the boys have climbed to the 11,000-foot level on Mount Kenya, about two-thirds of the way up.

Such achievements make her son’s absence worth it, Lloyd said back in Baltimore.

“I miss him. It’s very difficult to have him away. But he has learned so much.”

The school’s address is Baraka School, PO Box 1507, Nanyuki, Kenya.