Kenyan school offers Somali refugees a modern – and moderate – education

"After years of anarchy, the younger generation has become alienated from older traditions and attracted to any demagogue who gives a simple idea," says Mr. Abdi. "The first instinct of a Sufi is to negotiate. For the Salafists, the first instinct is to pick up a sword and cut off a head."

Here in Eastleigh, adherents of both schools of thought have found their way to Kenya, setting up businesses or taking odd jobs and sending money to keep alive those family members too sick or poor to leave Somalia. The neighborhood, once prosperous, now has a feeling of neglect, as the increased number of trucks carrying smuggled appliances from the port of Mombasa ground the once-paved streets into potholes and dust.

Clan rivalries occasionally erupt into gunfire on the streets, and Kenyan newspapers portray Eastleigh as a kind of gangland. Pedestrians and shoppers converse distractedly, constantly eyeing the crowd for a possible threat.

But at Fathu Rahman Primary School, those problems are left at the door. Students in the cramped classrooms, boys on one side, girls on the other, study subjects that will prepare them for work in a foreign land – and preserve the values their families left behind.

"Today, we are learning about place values," says Isaak Miruka Akuru, himself a Kenyan Muslim. He writes out a six-digit number and shows where the ones are, the tens, the hundreds, the thousands, and so on. He asks a student to read out the number, in English. A tall girl, wrapped in a white chador scarf, says, "Sir, that number is six hundred, twenty-five thousand, nine hundred and seventy three."

Fathu Rahman was set up, says Isaak, because "when people came to Kenya, they could not match with the local people, because of the large cultural differences. So they found it necessary to be in an integrated school, where they continue their religious education, but adapt the Kenyan national curriculum to fit this generation into Kenyan society."

Since many of Fathu Rahman's students came from more radical madrassas, school founder Sheikh Hussein feels like much of his work is taken up with deprogramming his students. Seeing a female student hide her face from a stranger, the sheikh gives her a stern reprimand.

The school has grown fast in its first 1-1/2 years, and now has 107 students in Grades 1 to 6. But money is a struggle, and the school relies entirely on donations from rich like-minded Somalis.

"The money we get from the student fees can't pay for the rent of this house," he says, pointing to the large walled compound where Fathu Rahman is based. Last month, the Muslim teachers on staff didn't get paid, and non-Muslim teachers were paid only half their salaries.

For now, the first-graders are getting something their older brothers and sisters couldn't have: a safe, modern education.

"Who wants to read for me this sentence?" asks a teacher, pointing to a sentence written in English on a chalkboard. All 15 students, boys and girls, raise their hands. "Fine," says the teacher with a smile, "then let's read together."

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