Changes

June 10, 2010

I have been working very hard lately on lesson plans, chemistry problems, and anything else that I can possibly do to give my students, especially my form VI, a chance to be successful on their national exams.  My students are PCM combination (physics, chemistry, advanced math, and general studies).  Their families have paid much money for them to study at Mkuu.  Unfortunately, their physics teacher has found a new and better job, their math teacher has been gone for a long while, and their general studies teacher is moving to join her husband in some remote corner of the country.  Now they have only one teacher, me.  I go to the classroom everyday, and I try to prevent them from being called out during class time for things such as work detail.  I have bought them NECTA review books and syllabi for all of their subjects.  I have encouraged them not to waste their class periods even if there is no teacher.  I was very proud of them when I arrived at the classroom early one day and saw a student at the board teaching.  I am now also holding additional class sessions for form VI on Saturday mornings for about 3 hours.  They are voluntary, but almost all of my students seem to come.

Concentrating on my school work not only benefits my students, but it also helps me.  There are times when I really, really miss the USA, especially when there are water, electricity, or network issues.  Last week I went to Moshi to get money from the bank, and the network was down.  I had plenty of money in my account, but I could not access a single penny!  I only had enough to eat lunch and take the bus home.  Luckily Cheryl had some extra money to lend me. 

On days when I have both electricity and running water, I call it "sikukuu" (a holiday).  After not having running water in my home for several days, it has been a real joy to flush my western toilet.  I like to stand and watch the water swirling down the hole.  If it rains almost everyday and everything is lush and green, why do we have no water?  Not having electricity is just as bad.  My mature eyes are not able to handle studying by booklight, flashlight, kerosene lantern, or candle light.  Usually I give up and go to bed, because I have no TV, ipod, computer, or other form of entertainment.  What is the problem with the electricity? 

It is ironic, however, that one night I found myself wishing that the electricity and the water would both go out.  For some reason all of the water hoses connected to my toilets and my sinks began to leak.  I put buckets under them and enjoyed listening to the sound of the "drips".  In addition to that, loud music began playing at about 6 in the evening and continued throughout the night.  It sounded like someone was having a party outside my window.  An hour or so of Tanzanian music is fine.  I actually like it, but this was like an endless loop of Rose Mahando, just a constant, repetitive beat. 

Needless to say, I did not sleep much that night. The next day when the teachers asked me how I was, I avoided telling them that I was a good potato, but I did ask them about the music.  They said it was for a funeral celebration.  All night?  I am often so confused.  That day I also asked the school handyman to come look at the water hoses, and they had stopped leaking!  I told him that they certainly had been leaking and I even showed him the dried water marks on the floor.  He told me that they had sealed themselves.  Now they seem to have sealed themselves so well that the water is refusing to come out of the taps.  There is, however, a little river a water running along the side of my house.  I think it is a broken water pipe and I have reported it, but it takes a while to get things done here in Tanzania.  The person who needs to fix it is not around.  He has gone to Moshi to collect our 30 year old school vehicle.  After driving it around the school campus backwards one day, the handyman has taken it to town for "vehicle maintenance and repair."  Still not sure I'll ride in it when it returns.

There have been a few changes in my life lately, and I have no words to express the feeling of not just seeing God at work, but feeling His power work through me.  It literally takes your breath away and leaves you exhausted.  First change:  I was walking past the church one day on my way home and a student came up beside me and asked to carry my bags.  The appropriate thing to do is to let her do it.  As we walked, she told me that the hostel was closing for the O-level semester break and that would be a problem.  I thought that maybe she wanted money, but she said, "No, I do not want money. I just want a place to stay."  I knew then that I would help her, but I needed some time to think. She was on my door step at 7 am the next morning, with a friend, and I told them that I must first go to school and talk to the headmaster.  The headmaster was not around, so I spoke with the second master.  He said that students typically were not allowed to stay with teachers in their homes, but in my case, it was different.  Fidesta and Prisca could stay with me as long as they were not a bother.  They would be much safer with me than they would be trying to find rooms in town. He also gave them permission to eat meals with the girls at the A-level hostel (for free!).  That was a relief, because I was not sure how to feed Tanzanian girls. 

At first, I did not know if I would like sharing my last haven of personal space, but now I have no regrets.  These girls are wonderful!  They do everything for me.  They get up early every morning and mop and clean my home.  They do dishes and wash clothes.  Even though they eat at the hostel, they insist on preparing my dinner, because they think that they eat more in one meal than I eat in a week.  Not exactly true.  I eat breakfast and a heavy Tanzanian lunch at school.  Usually I am not very hungry at dinner time. 

I am trying to get to know these girls, and Fidesta's story has touched my heart.  She is a form 4 student here at Mkuu and she is also a true orphan.  Both her parents have died.  Her oldest brother used to be the head of household, but is now living in Dar with an uncle.  He is eligible for university but Fidesta does not know if he will go.  Her sister saw no options and recently married to try to secure her future.  For awhile, Fidesta and her younger brother, Yudathade, were living all alone.  However, Fidesta moved to the hostel at Mkuu when it became unsafe for her to stay at her home.  Now only her young brother (maybe 14) is living at the family home.  He is actually one of Cheryl's form 1 students, but she has so many that she really does not know him.  The thought of him living alone bothers me, so I asked Fidesta if we could go to greet him and bring him some food.  Life has not been kind to these children.  Fidesta has stomach problems, probably from the stress.  She cannot eat beans.  Meat is not served very often at school, so maize or rice is her usual meal.  I will never forget Fidesta's response when I told her that she could stay with me. She said that I had lifted her from a snake pit.  Thanks be to God!  She had been praying so hard.

Second change:  House girl has a name (Neema, which means "Grace of God"), she is 10, and she has never been to school but has always longed to go.  Monday, Neema went to school for the very first time.  I sent a Tanzanian friend to Morogoro to talk to Victoria and to take care of the paperwork needed to enroll Neema in school .  In order to help her catch up to her peers, Neema's schooling is costing a bit more than normal to pay for extra assistance.  When Francis gave her a school t-shirt, (she had no idea that we were planning this), she was overcome with joy.

Third change:  Agness (Victoria's daughter) is coming today to stay with me.  She never completed her secondary education and realizes now that she wants a better life.  She is 24.  My school has adult education classes in the evening so she will be enrolling in those.  After a year or two, she will sit for her form 4 national exams.  Pray that she is successful in turning her life around.

Fourth change:  Little Maria finished her first term at her pre-primary school and scored very high marks.

Fifth change:  Victoria says that God sent me to remove a great stone from her neck.  She now sees hope for the future.

Thanks be to God and to all of you who have given me so much support.

Miscellaneous Thoughts

May 9, 2010

Hope all is well in the US.  Have not seen or heard much news since my phone was stolen in Iringa and the TV in the staff room at school broke.  However, the repairman has come and the TV is again functional, but before returning to news programming, the staff at Mkuu is catching up on our favorite dubbed over (in English) soap opera "Shades of Sin."

I seem to have settled into my life here at Mkuu.  I am now teaching form V (34 students) and form VI (19 students).  I am not certain of the true numbers.  I have no official rosters.  The new school year began a couple of weeks ago, but the school calendar is more like a suggested schedule rather than one set in stone.  More students may come tomorrow or even next week.  Who knows, but I am teaching again.  I am making lesson plans and doing chemistry problems and trying to think of ways to explain abstract concepts to students whose second language is English.  Many of these concepts are difficult to explain to students whose first language is English!  Those of you who know me well, know that I secretly enjoy doing chemistry problems, and although it amazes most Tanzanian teachers, I also love to teach! 

My form VI students are quite comfortable with me now and do not hesitate to ask questions, although it may take me a few minutes to understand what they are actually asking.  I did the "crush the can" demo to wrap up our gas law unit.  I had to bring my own equipment (hot plate, tongs, a small pot to hold water, and empty soda cans.  (Most soda is sold in bottles here so I saved the cans from the soda I gave Cheryl for Christmas). I asked the students to explain why the can imploded using principles of the kinetic molecular theory and the gas laws, and I told them that their response would be graded as a question on the unit test.  The students immediately began discussing the demo in rapid Kiswahili (if I know the topic, I can actually understand many words) and they were really excited.  Usually information is just given to them and they are required to memorize it, but I have seen from their eyes that they like to think and to understand.  Someone asked what would happen if we did the procedure a bit differently, so we tried, but the results were difficult to see using a can.  I just happened to have a balloon in my backpack, so we put it over a flask, heated it, and stuck it in cold water.  My students thought that that was cool too! 

My new form V students are a larger class and still very quiet.  I ask questions, give them time to think, and no response.  I call on them by name to answer questions, and they reply so quietly that I practically have to put my ear next to their mouth to hear them.  However, their eyes tell me that some are really eager to talk.  (Teachers can tell a lot by looking at students' eyes).  They are still just trying to figure me out.  I have high hopes for form V.  I will have no problem covering the syllabus because I have been teaching from day one.  I will also probably do a better job teaching them because I will be a "second year Tanzanian teacher."  Now, if I could just find a solution to this chalk.  After back to back classes, I really look white.

Speaking of new teachers, while talking to the headmaster, I offered to help with our new temporary teachers.  There are five of them, all newly graduated from form VI.  Form VI exams are taken in February and then the school year ends.  Students do not get their results until months later and university begins in September, so they have plenty of time to contemplate the possible paths their lifes may take.  Hopefully they will be the lucky ones who pass their exams and will then have an opportunity to go to university.  While waiting, many form VI leavers, like these young men, take temporary jobs at schools teaching O-level classes.  This helps alleviate the teacher shortage.  However, form VI leavers receive no teacher training.  I am observing their classes in order to help them improve their teaching.  Our first goal is to talk to the students, not to the board.  After that, maybe we'll work on questioning.  This is really fun! 

Sunday morning as I left my house to walk to church, my little friend with the one hand came running across the field to meet me.  I think he had been waiting for me.  Today he was dressed in his finest.  He was wearing a suit jacket made for a much bigger boy, but the sleeves covered his deformed hand, and that is what he prefers.  My friend's name is Steven and he is 8 years old.  He walked me to church, and he walked me home.  As we walked towards my house, I seemed to gather quite a large following of children.  I felt like the pied piper.  I knew that I did not have enough cookies to give to all these children.  Steven and one small friend followed me into my kitchen.  I gave them each a couple of cookies and told them to eat them inside. However, they ran off with the crowd.

A short time later, I heard a knock at the door.  It was Steven, alone, saying something I did not understand and looking kind of sad.  Then I noticed a group of older boys in the field below looking toward my house.  I think that they were somehow bothering Steven, so I invited him in.  Diana was at the house and I was cooking rice and fish in a tomato vegetable sauce.  I invited Steven to stay for lunch, and he ate two generous helpings. When I told him that I was going to walk Diana to the road to catch the bus, he went outside and sat on my porch.  He was still there when I returned.  He stayed for the rest of the day.  I cleaned house, mopped floors, and washed some clothes while he played ball on the porch with a friend.  Around 6:00, another large group of children congregated outside my door.  Again, there were too many, and I was tired, so I sent them all home and closed the doors.  Another Sunday in Mkuu.

Now that I am teaching forms V and VI, I do not have much time to go to the internet cafe in town.  I started writing this e-mail on April 26th, but have not had a chance to finish it and hit send.  My relationship with my form V students continues to improve.  I am no longer mzungu (white person).  Instead I have become mwalimu (teacher).  That makes me feel good.  I am concerned about my form VI students however, because they have no real advanced math teacher and their physics teacher is leaving soon.  Their only real teacher is me.  I know that they are discouraged.  I know that they are scared.  These exams are their future.  I will do all that I can to help them. I only hope that  it will be enough.

Not all here is depressing.  I was riding home from Moshi a few weeks ago, and I was thinking about the women that I saw working out in the fields.  Then something caught my eye.  Someone really had a sense of humor.  There were faded pink flamingos surrounding one of the fields.  Then to my surprise, they moved!  I remembered that I was in Africa.  They do not have fake plastic pink flamingos, they have real ones.

Yesterday Cheryl and I went on an outing with the second master from her school.  We were going to climb up the mountain a bit, but she is not able to do a lot of strenuous walking and climbing, so we went to see a waterfall and a Chaga museum (local tribe) instead.  It was a nice, relaxing day.  Cheryl sat by the side of the stream, while I took off my shoes and socks and walked with the guide and the second master over to the falls.  The museum was also interesting.  There was a young cow inside the Chaga house.  Animals were kept in the house with the family to prevent theft by the Masai.

 I have a soft spot for animals.  I believe that many people here feel the same.  As we traveled by bus to town, I noticed many people walking their pets (goats, pigs, cows, and chickens) to the market that day.  Maybe they just wanted to give their pets a bit of exercise or maybe there was going to be a big pet show.  The big pig that I saw was practically skipping alongside his owner.  He seemed very happy to be going somewhere.

Little Things

April 21, 2010

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the number of people here who truly need assistance, and I wonder if I am really making a difference at all.  Recently, several events and some supportive words from many of you have helped me to see that even small deeds can make a difference.

While in Morogoro, Victoria, two of her friends, and I visited a home for mentally disabled children in a neighboring town.  The women planned to walk to the center (miles on a hot day) to give the director their Easter donation, but being American, I thought that it was too far, so I paid for all of us to ride a dala dala (small bus). The women were very grateful. 

During our visit, I had the opportunity to talk to the woman who had  founded the place.  She told me (in English) that she was a social worker by profession and that she also had had a mentally disabled son.  She had directed many people to a variety of services through her work, but she had never been able to find the kind of care that her own son needed.  After he passed away, she felt like she needed to do something to help children like her son live a better life.  She organized a small group of parents who had children with mental disabilities.  What began as a simple support group soon grew into a school, and eventually became a home for fifteen disabled children.  Today the center is run by the Catholic diocese of Morogoro (this woman still serves as director but will soon retire after serving 20 years). There are now about 40 children living at the home and many more who come for day schooling.  Truly this woman has made a difference in the lives of many disabled children and their families.

Another recent event brought to mind a well known Bible story.  It is the parable about the offerings given by the rich man and the poor woman. The man gave gave only a small portion of what he had, but the poor woman gave her last coin.  I always liked that story, and now I have seen it unfold in real life.  I was standing next to the church one Sunday, waiting for one mass to end and the next to begin.  As the mob of people poured out of the doors, one little old bibi approached me.  (So many like to shake my hand and greet me).  I gave her the proper, respectful greeting, "shikamo bibi."  She replied "marahaba" and smiled and pumped my hand up and down.  She continued to speak, and I thought she was saying "the peace of God be with you," so I said, "and also with you." However, she did not let go of my hand.  She kept coming closer and she was sounding more insistent.  I was not sure what she wanted.  Maybe she was mentally ill or maybe she just wanted money.  All of a sudden, I felt someone take hold of my other hand.  I looked down, and it was the little boy with no hand who had come to my house weeks ago.  I had given him cookies at the time.  Now he was looking at me with pleading eyes and saying "twende mzungu, twende! (let's go, white person, let's go).

I used this opportunity to say good bye to the woman, and I let the little boy lead me into the church.  He led me to the pews reserved for the nuns (it is where I usually sit) and then took a seat beside me.  This was the childrens' mass.  There are literally hundreds of children in the church but only a few adults (imagine letting your seven year old walk to church alone with your toddler).  Typically, children are not allowed to sit in the nuns' pews.  The usher came to chase some children from the pew, but my little friend just slid closer to me.  The usher looked at him, looked at me, and then smiled.  The boy was safe.  We were allowed to worship together.  Actually, as I tried to decipher what was being said, he enjoyed looking at my English/Kiswahili Bible.  Early in the mass, another boy crept into my pew and sat next to us.  He looked about the same age as my little friend, but he was dressed in a nice suit and had shiny black shoes and two hands. 

When it was time for the collection, I gave both boys a coin to put in the box.  My little friend ran eagerly to drop his into the box.  The other boy followed, and I assumed that he had dropped his in as well.  Near the end of the mass, I heard a clink, and the nicely dressed boy reached down and picked up his coin!  Either he had had his own coin or he had kept the one that I had given him.  I was surprised, but I let it go.

When mass ended, both boys grabbed my hands to lead me out and to lead me home.  The strong boy took my right hand, leaving the other little one to take my left.  Unfortunately, he had no right hand.  He tried hard to hold my left hand with his left hand, but it made it very difficult to navigate over the rocks on the path to my home.  Suddenly I sensed a change, and I felt the stump of his malformed limb tentatively touch my hand.  I reached down and took hold of it, and we walked like that the rest of the way.  When we arrived at my house, I told the boys to wait while I got each of them a new yellow pencil.  The strong boy accepted his nonchalantly, while the eyes of my new friend lit up like I had given him gold.  He thanked me and ran off to enjoy his day. 

The parable of the rich boy and the poor boy.  May this little one find his real treasure in heaven.

Have a great day.

Paying Respects

April 11, 2010

The first day of my visit to Morogoro was Palm Sunday.  Victoria goes to church far away and very early, so the girls (Maria and Neema) and I walked to the church near their home.  We arrived in time to join in the procession going into the church, singing, waving large palm fronds, and ululating (this is an expression of great joy made by whooping and moving the tongue back and forth rapidly. I have tried, but I do not think I will ever be able to do it).

After church, Victoria took us to visit her younger sister (Gudi and Jasmine's mother) in a neighboring village (very rural).  We had a pleasant visit and each drank a soda.  Then Mama Gudi came out of her room and handed me a couple of kitange (colorful pieces of cloth that African women wrap around their clothes, drape over their shoulders, or use as head wraps).  Victoria said we were going to visit neighbors whose mother had just died.  Remember she does not speak English and I don't always understand everything that is said in Kiswahili.  I wrapped one kitange around my skirt and draped the other over my shoulder.  They did not match, but that does not matter.  They were very colorfu,l and that is what catches my eye.  Before we left, Victoria told me to leave my bag at the house but bring my phone and 500 shilingi.  The children stayed at the house and Victoria, her sister and I set out for the neighbor's home.

When we arrived, there were already many people there.  Some women were cooking big pots of food over the fire.  Most, however, were sitting on old grain bags in the courtyard near the pig pen.  We went over and sat with them.  Just sat, for quite awhile.  Finally, Victoria's sister said it was time.  Time for what, I was not quite sure, but I followed them into the house.  We entered a room divided by a curtain.  People were lined up and circling around the back and exiting again from the door.  I had an inkling that this was maybe not just saying "pole sana" to the family, but I followed.  There was the mama resting in her bed.  I do not especially like viewings and I felt like an intruder, so I hurried through as quickly as I could.  I took my seat again in the courtyard. 

After awhile, someone in the house began to wail: deep, grief stricken sobs.  It was the daughter.  She came out supported by two other people.  I had been feeling kind of disconnected because I did not know the family, but now I could not help but feel that woman's pain.  I had to wipe my eyes with my kanga and I noticed that many other women were doing the same.  Death in Africa is all too common, and I realized that probably every one of these women was remembering their own loss, a parent, a husband, a sibling, a child, a friend.

Soon a tray was passed around and we each added our coins to a collection for the family.  Then plates of food were served.  I shared a plate of ugali, beans, and greens with Victoria's sister.  We ate with our hands.  I ate enough to be polite but I really wasn't very hungry.  While we were eating, a man came stumbling into the courtyard saying something in rapid Kiswahilil.  He fixed his eyes on me (I am easy to pick out in a crowd in Tanzania) then he came over and put two coins in my hand.  He said something else and left.  Now I could see some of the women smiling and looking at me.  A moment of comic relief? The man had given me 150 shilingi (about 15 cents).  I am not really sure why.  I think I was supposed to use the money to do good work.  Victoria's sister said it was a Tanzanian tradition.  Anyway, I added the money to the family's plate.

The clouds had been moving in all afternoon.  It began to rain, then pour.  We all moved into some empty rooms in the house and continued to wait.  A truck drove up, and some men unloaded an unfinished casket and carried it through the house.  After awhile, it was carried back out and returned to the truck.  Many people were standing underneath a tarp and someone was speaking.  Family members were sobbing and some nuns tended to them.  Finally the truck drove off with the casket and with a load of mourners. Victoria, Mama Gudi, and I were going to walk to the church, but it was quite a distance and it was still pouring. Instead, we returned to Mama Gudi's home. Bibi (Victoria's mother) soon joined us.  The girls had prepared lunch and we had another meal.

It was a palm Sunday I will always remember.

House Girl

April 6, 2010

I have just returned home to Mkuu after two weeks of training in Iringa and a week visiting my host family in Morogoro.  I had a good time visiting with fellow Americans and Tanzanians too, but it is nice to be home. 

I have mentioned before how much time it takes to do even a simple task in a developing country.  If you want to eat, you have to walk to the market, maybe through mud and rain, to buy your food.  You return home to light the fire (charcoal or wood), wash and prepare the food, and then cook the meal.  After eating there are always plenty of dishes to do.  Doing laundry means filling buckets (maybe heating water, maybe not) and washing and rinsing clothes by hand.  The clothes are then hung outside on the line if it is not raining or on the indoor line if it is.  There is a lot of menial work to do in Tanzania and so it is customary to employ a house girl.

I want to introduce you to a house girl that I recently met.  She is 10 years old and has completed standard 2 (2nd year of primary education and primary education is free in Tanzania) but she is now taking a "rest" from school.  I will just call her "house girl" because she could be any poor girl in this country, and as a house girl, she really does not have much identity.

Her day begins early before the sun comes up.  She lights the fire for morning chai and sweeps the yard.  She prepares breakfast, cleans the floors and helps the young children get ready for school.  As they go off to school laughing and talking with their friends, she remains behind to continue with her chores.  She is only 10.

Her mistress is really a kind person.  She bought her house girl a new pair of shoes and had a fundi make her a dress for the child to wear to church.  She also had one of her old dresses altered for house girl to wear as well. However, nothing house girl does ever seems to be right.  She does not greet people properly.  She does not prepare the food correctly or on time.  When she sees the other children playing and tries to join in (remember she is only 10) she is always interrupted by a call from her mistress to do another chore.  There seems to be little in her life to bring her hope and joy.

I realize that this is only my perspective because I live in a foreign world.  I know that life has more to offer.  House girl does not know. I have heard her in the kitchen washing dishes, cooking dinner, singing songs of praise to God.  I wonder what is she possibly thankful for?  She is resting from school!  What are her chances of becoming anything in life?  What will she become when she can no longer be a house "girl"? But when I listen to her singing, and I see her smiling as she works, I realize that maybe her life now as a house girl is much better than her life before. She has food to eat, clothes and shoes to wear, a bed to sleep in, a solid roof over her head.  She is no longer living in a mud hut that crumbles when the chickens peck the sides. Her stomach does not growl with hunger as she tries to fall asleep at night. 

However, I cannot keep my heart from breaking for her because I want her to go to school.  I want her to be able to play and to be a child.  I want her to have all that life can give.  She is only 10!  I hate it when she is chastised for doing something incorrectly that we would expect only someone much older to be able to do.  But I cannot give these things to her.  Here it is a different world, a much harder life.  Yes, her mistress seems harsh, but she is also poor and she knows this life.  She is training House Girl to survive in her world. We have the luxury of nurturing and pampering our children. The poor people in a developing country do not. I can give the child a smile, a piece of candy, a kind word, a memory, but I am beginning to realize that I cannot save the world.

Please say a prayer for house girls and boys all over the world.

Lucy

March 13, 2010

When I first arrived in Morogoro, my host family called me "Lucy".  I thought maybe they were just mispronouncing "Ruthie".  After about 2 weeks, we both discovered our mistake and we all had a good laugh.  Now, I have met a real "Lucy" and she did not make me laugh.  In fact, she made me think once more about dreams, opportunity, and hope.

Lucy is about 21 years old, a second year university student, the first in her family to attend.  Her parents are both primary school teachers and struggle to pay her university fees and school fees for her younger siblings.  Lucy is studying accounting and finance.  Her dream is to someday become a CPA.  Now she is doing field work in our district offices.

Lucy stopped by my home to greet me as I sat on the porch with the neighbor children.  While we were chatting, she told me that her heart "pinches" for her country.  She said that sometimes she asks God why  she had to be born in Tanzania where dreams die.  Lucy is a beautiful girl, so intelligent, already in university, why would she say that in Tanzania, dreams die?  Then she told me why.

Lucy believes that in order for a developing country to advance, the leaders must think more of the people than they do of themselves, but the people in her country, she says, are very selfish.  Most people are poor, but the few that are rich get richer.  People in high positions in almost every sector misappropriate money for themselves and for their families.  Good jobs are given to those who are connected to money, even if the recipient is not qualified.  The government promises money to poor university students, but then the money never comes.  Some students are not able to attend university because of the cost, even though they have passed their exams and have been accepted.  There are some who sell their name (space) to rich kids who have not qualified.  Other students cut back on food (maybe eating only one or two pieces of fruit each day) and lodging.  Even in university, you are not free from struggles, especially the girls.  If a professor takes an interest in you, he may ask you for other favors.  To refuse usually results in failing marks, inability to obtain field work, or even after completing your studies, disqualification from obtaining your degree.  To agree may result in pregnancy, disease, even death from AIDS.  During her field work, the district treasurer gave her group his books and told them to make them balance.  How do you balance books when 100000s of shilingis are missing?  She hates selfishness, corruption, and deceit, but now she feels she is forced to be a part of it.  Who do you tell?  If you speak up, your dreams are dead.  Without an education, Lucy says you are worth nothing at all.  With an education, she fears who she might be.  Hope and opportunity.  What is life when hope dies?  Imagine a life with no open doors.

If I had had the money, I would have given Lucy the money for her tuition.  But I did not have it then, so all I could do was wipe my tears and say a prayer for her.  There is much pain and sadness here in Tanzania.

How blessed we are in America where our sons and daughters are able to dream dreams and believe that one day they may come true.  Maybe America is the land of hope and opportunity.  Please say a prayer for Lucy tonight.

Distractions

February 25, 2010

Form V's took their final exams this week and then left for a month-long break.  That meant invigilating (proctoring) exams again.  This time, I made sure that they all had pencils and many used them as straight edgse as well.  I did not proctor exams needing calculators, and the students used leftover national exam answer booklets to write their responses in.  The wind was not blowing through the broken windows, and the rain was not dripping through the roof, so there really was not much to do, other than to think.

Have you ever experienced a moment of confusion, like the feeling you get when you fall asleep in the afternoon and then wake up thinking that it is morning and that you are late for work?  That sudden jolt?  That moment of disorientation when you wonder, where am I?  This can't be real!  I have felt this way many times.  In fact I wrote a poem about it many years ago, and it has seemed to fit every phase of my life:

At times I seem to step out of myself
And I see a strange woman
Living a life I never imagined.
But I do not know her
Then they call her by my name
And she turns and I am surprised to see
That she is me!

I have become reacquainted with this feeling here in Tanzania.  Standing in the classroom watching the students writing so furiously, I thought about how important a single test grade is to their future education. I thought about how much American students take their education for granted.  The disparity was so overwhelming that I felt like this could not be real.  I looked out the window and saw a parade of students coming up the hill carrying big sacks of flour.  (Deliveries are made to the shop by the road.  Students carry them to the school).  I looked out the back window to see the progress on the new classroom building.  There was a group of students shoveling dirt/sand into empty sacks and carrying them away on their heads.  Another group was mixing cement.  This is all during the school day.  What about learning?  Why were they not in the classroom?  Was this punishment?  Or was this reward?  Probably neither, it is just part of an ordinary school day.  Students do all of the work at school, cleaning, chopping grass with long blades, picking up trash, sweeping classrooms, carrying heavy loads. It seems odd to me, but that is life in a developing country.  Then I think about our own traditional school calendar.  Wasn't that designed to give the students time to work in the fields and on the farms?

Each exam is three hours long and there is no place to sit, so I look for distractions.  The first that I found was a cute little baby lizard, with a little baby face and a little lizard tail.  He was running across the floor in the front of the room straight towards me.  Oh no!  I am the only thing in the front of the room.  What if he thinks I am a tree or something and runs up my leg.  That would be awkward.  So I tried to distract him without being a distraction myself.  However, I only ended up diverting him toward the students!  I did not want someone to unknowingly step on him, so I had to detour him again.  My efforts were successful, and I had him turned around, and then I saw the spider, bigger than the lizard!  I turned my attention to it until I was sure that it had crawled up the wall.  Then when I looked for my lizard again, he was gone!  See, you do not want me to tend your goats.  I cannot even look after a small lizard in a classroom. (I checked thoroughly after all the students had left the room and I did not see any signs of the lizard, so I believe he found his way out safely).

After losing the lizard, I noticed another group of students come out to the school yard, followed by a teacher with a stick and a teacher with a small board.  The students were told to squat and put their hands on their hips and bounce up and down.  This went on for about five minutes while the teachers chatted (they are both nice people) and occasionally smacked students who were not doing the exercise correctly.  I was relieved when I saw all the students stand.  I thought it was over, but no, now they all squatted in a chair pose and held that for about five minutes.  Then the boys began doing push ups while the girls resumed the original squat and bounce pose.  When the punishment truly ended, the students lined up for their two smacks with the stick or the board, and then they returned to the classroom.

Corporal punishment is part of the culture here.  Students and parents expect it.  Teachers are expected to administer it.  It is their life.  However, for me, it was one of those "where am I?" experiences.  "This cannot be real!"  I especially felt this way when I saw students called before the whole morning assembly for a public beating.  They were to be an example to others not to get caught drinking on school grounds.  After the beating, the students were suspended for three weeks.  Another morning when I arrived at school, there were some small girls kneeling on the staff room floor.  A teacher told them to hold out their hands, and then he smacked them so hard that the stick broke.  The girls then held their hands in the air and wiggled their fingers back and forth and tried hard not to cry.  They may be tough, but I could not help the tears in my eyes.  Students are hit for misbehaving, for being tardy, and for failing tests!  Sometimes they are even hit for things they did not do. How different it is from our schools.