Who Will Fight For Them?

Who Will Fight for Them?

December 15, 2010

We have many O-level students here at Mkuu, but our A-level school is very small.  Now that O-level has closed for the term, it has been very quiet around campus.  Classes are scheduled to begin at 8:00 am each day, but students are required to come an hour earlier to do their morning chores (sweep the dirt, mop the floors, collect and wash yesterday’s dirty dishes, cut the grass with a blade, carry the maize to the kitchen.  Almost all hard labor is done by the students).  The rains have also returned, so many mornings it is damp and cold and drizzly until the sun lifts the clouds off the mountain.  I arrive at school at 7:30 with my backpack full and take my place under the overhang by the staffroom door.  At 7:30 it is still locked.  There are no teachers around. The only adult is me.  I watch the students at work and I wait.  At 7:45, a student strikes the tire rim (our bell) and most of the students assemble on the parade ground.  A student leader comes forward and makes a few announcements (about what I do not know), then asks for some time for silent prayer.  When O-level was here, they used to sing the anthem, but now after praying, the students just return to their classroom to begin their work.  For most of them, it is self-study because their teachers do not come, if they even have a teacher.  At 8 or 8:15, another teacher or two, or even an administrator has arrived.  The staffroom door is unlocked and we sign the attendance register.  I look at the times they have recorded: 7:00, 7:05 and I sign my name and take a seat at my desk.  One teacher turns on the TV (if we are lucky enough to have electricity that day).  A couple of others go outside to talk on their phones.  I look over my notes for the day.  I think about my students and wonder about their dreams for the future.  I feel a heavy sadness here at Mkuu.

Last week as I sat at my desk grading papers, writing exams or preparing marking schemes, I noticed the assistant academic master and one of our temporary teachers reviewing some file folders.  I assumed that they were verifying names and student photographs for upcoming national exams.  They did not consult me, so I went on about my business.  Monday when I asked for a form to submit my students’ projects grades, I also inquired about their first term class grades.  I had never been asked to submit them even though I had offered to leave them before going home in September.  I was told that they had already been submitted!  “By whom?”  No one had asked me for my grades.  The second master told me that the assistant academic master had completed the forms last week.  He had asked the temporary teacher (not a professional teacher, a form six leaver) to fill in my students’ grades on my behalf.  I was stunned!  The disbelief and anger was evident in my voice as I questioned the second master.  How could this happen?  I was there!  I saw them with the files.  Why did they not consult me?  It was not fair!  For an entire year I had watched my students struggle to learn without teachers.  I had seen fear in their faces and tears in their eyes.  I had encouraged them to keep working despite the odds stacked against them.  I had told them not to give up hope.  Now this!  For what reason?  I was not just angry, I was through with Mkuu.  I was through with Tanzania.  I decided to terminate my service with Peace Corps and go home to sanity.  I had nothing left to give.

However, that night I woke up at 3:00 am.  I tried many tricks but could not go back to sleep.  It was quiet and still and very dark.  There was no power again.  I opened my curtain and looked out at the sky.  From horizon to horizon, there were a multitude of stars.  As I watched, I saw three shoot across the sky.  Another one was brighter than any I had ever seen.  In fact, it was so bright that I could actually see it through the curtain.  I wondered if it was really a star.  Maybe it was a satellite or the international space station.  Then I thought about the Bethlehem star and I thought about Christmas.  I missed my children and my family so much.  It would be nice to go home.  But the Bethlehem star was a sign, a sign of hope.  A thought appeared in my head, “You cannot go because who would fight for them?”  Who would fight for Mary, Philipina, Amina, Upendo, Beatrice, Mwanaidi, Neema, Christina, Glory, Arbogast, Mathias, Cosma, Larki, Sabas, Domina, Eugen, Yudathade, Anna and Heriet? Who would fight for their future?  Then the voice said, “Speak to them.  Deliver the message.”  What message?  I knew this could not be a mefloquine dream (antimalarial drug) because I was wide awake.  Maybe I was overtired.  Despite trying to rationalize these thoughts, I knew in my heart that it was God.  I was not going home and I would speak to my students.  I might be quiet and easy going, but I am also very determined (stubborn?).  I would fight for them.

The next day, I contacted my Tanzanian education supervisor and explained the problem.  She agreed that an injustice had been done, and she said she would contact my headmaster at his conference in Arusha and get back to me.  I went to teach my form six.  When we finished reviewing for their mid-term, I told my students that I wanted to speak to them.  I had a message to deliver but I was not really sure what it was, so I would just speak from my heart.  So I told them my story of how and why I had come to Mkuu.  I spoke about faith, hope, and loving one another.  I spoke about opportunity and not choosing “easy” over doing what is right.  I reminded them not to be a “victim” of their circumstances, but to choose to be a “thriver.” Many of the lessons that I had learned in life were there in the words I spoke.  When I was finished, I told them that I hoped that I had delivered the message and that I hoped that I had helped them find their peace.  Most were quiet but a few were sobbing, even a couple of the boys.  Some were praying.  Some had their Bibles open on their desk.  One girl handed me a small piece of paper.  It said, “Although trobles are always, God will never live you alone.  He is with u always.  Thank you Madam.  I love u.”

After finishing my work for the day, I took a bus to Moshi.  I had a package to get from customs and some pictures to pick up for my students.  I met Cheryl for lunch.  She has been vacationing in Moshi for a few days.  As I was walking home at dusk through the field (now grounds for the Catholic Church’s Revival of the Holy Spirit), they were closing up the vendor stalls.  A young man approached me with some rosaries.  I bought one for Yuda for Christmas.  I was tired and just wanted to rest.

The next day, the second masters summoned me to their office for a meeting.  Evidently the headmaster had called them to ask about the problem and to tell them to fix it.  We talked about what had happened and about life here in general at Mkuu Secondary.  I gave them my observations and offered some professional advice.  They listened.  I told them that I thought most of the teachers were good people who had just lost their way.  Many are young and have no good role model to follow.  Mkuu is a sad place where no one seems to care about anything.  If teachers do not care, students will not care, so how will we ever improve?  Teachers come to eat and to get their pay, but I believe that one who takes money for a job that they have not done, is no more than a thief.  Maybe there are one or two bad apples in the bunch and it is important to recognize them and stop them from spoiling the others.  Maybe with encouragement, with training, the others will even come to enjoy what they do.  One second master asked me if I would begin a series of teacher workshops in January when we return.  I agreed.  Now I hope that I remember all of the right things to say to them.  Pray that I can make a difference for these teachers.

The second masters apologized for my disturbance and told me that new grades would be submitted.  I pray that they follow through.  This has been a distressing situation but maybe it has been a catalyst for change for Mkuu.

Now on a lighter note: In America, when we hear the word “taco” we think of something to eat.  In Kiswahili, the word “taco” means backside.  In Kenya, they speak more English than in Tanzania.  Recently I have come in contact with a Nairobi Fly (aka the” blister beetle”).  Being from Nairobi (Kenya), maybe he had heard the word taco and thought food.  Maybe I sat on him.  I guess I will never know the reason, but I did get quite a stinging on my taco.

A new cinema (the first) just opened in Moshi.  Cheryl and I decided to take Yuda and Gloria to a Sunday matinee to see Ironman 2.  Yuda had never been to a big city (actually a small town) before.  His eyes were like saucers all the way.  It reminded me of the time I took my son Jonathan to see Peter Pan on Ice when he was a small child.  Yuda is a teenager, but he had the same look on his face.  We arrived at the theater early and sat in the lounge to wait.  There was a fairly large flat screen TV showing a soccer match.  The kids sat down to watch.  I told Cheryl that I bet that the kids thought that was the cinema.  After a while, the usher came to tell us that we could now buy tickets.  We went downstairs, bought tickets, popcorn and water.  Cheryl and I turned to go into the theater while the kids were already on their way up the stairs.  I was right, they thought the movie was going to be on that big TV.  When we called them to follow us in and they actually saw the real movie screen, Yuda just said, “wow!” 

Monday I am planning to take Yuda, Gloria, and Beatrice (one of my form 6 students who cannot go home for break and instead will stay with me) on a day hike up Mt. Kilimanjaro.  I hope the weather is nice and we can see some sights.  In order to do the hike, I had to hire a guide and an assistant and maybe a porter (for a day hike).

Soon it will be Christmas again.  This time I will know to go to church early and this time I will not go alone.  I will sing and dance and give thanks to God for all of the gifts he has given me.  Soon after Christmas, we will welcome in a new year, 2011, the year that I will be going home.  Hopefully I have taught some here how to fight for themselves and how to reach out to those who need someone to fight for them.  I pray that I have made a lasting difference in each one of these young person’s life.

* I have just finished filling in a new grade report for my students.  I was told that it will be submitted to the examination council to replace the one with errors.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!