Every time I leave the classroom of 6th grade Africans I’m teaching, I still can’t believe it. Walking from their tall 4 story concrete building across the gravel courtyard to the “teachers lounge,” my spirit is flying high and again there is confirmation for my life. The comfort of confirmation and authority as a teacher only lasts that long though, until I enter the teachers’ office, which is just an over taken classroom, on in the long “L” shaped building where the younger kids have class. In this place is where I’ve been having my biggest struggle of the month. I characterize it with these words: trapped, purposeless and humbled. I wrote about it best in my journal the other day.
“…I’d been feeling trapped. As far as I know, it’s a privilege that I have the ability and maybe even the concept of getting away. Desiring a nice walk alone, wanting to drive somewhere alone or find a roof with a light breeze. None of these really available. None something reasonable to these people. And I’ve felt a lack of purpose. On the bus I am the teacher who just sits with the kids. In the class they listen and I speak and am valid, but still don’t have connections with the students. With the teachers I am, there. Where ever I am I don’t understand what’s going on. I sit unknowing almost at all times, unimportant on the outside and confused on the inside. Trapped, purposeless, and humbled. Humbled to lack the feeling of having a place… [But I feel welcomed] by my confidence that I belong here. Here as in this spot on earth at this moment in my life. Not appointed by my educators, internship organizer or the head master, but by the maker of this world and former of the plans for my life. And that’s exactly it; where my purpose and freedom and comfort come from. Where I forget, and leave it. But He doesn’t forget and he stays near me, and reminds me.”
So, this has been the growing experience of the last two weeks. Challenged not just by being in a new culture, but also by lacking my own. Normally I am around fellow students from Whitworth, but we’re split up this month at internships that fit our life goals. Because I’m working in only one class- 6th grade history- I have a lot of time in the teachers’ lounge/office to either grade or do my own work. The other teachers are kind but a bit hard to connect with. It’s not until tea break or lunch that I meet up with the three other Americans on the campus. But like any good challenge, it leads to growth. Clearly, its reminding me that my purpose and comfort comes first and foremost from the Lord. And, like I said, I cannot believe the situation I am in right now. I guess it never actually clicked that I’d be teaching in Africa. So it still feels unreal, like I need to be pinched. It happened so fast. The plan was to sit in and observe the teacher for the first week. Instead, at the end of the first day I was given the small state issued text book and his own notes to plan the lesson for the next day. And I did. I taught for the first time ever on the face of the earth. I like to say if like that because I am literally across the face of the earth. So, hardly any experience, but plenty of years of observation. Still, I was surprised at how naturally its came and how naturally I began to think of ways to improve. Right now the students are learning about Tanzanian colonization and independence, so so am I, because I’m the one teaching it.
This is how school is structured: the students write out their lesson, copying it from the board. They take it home and study. They come back and the teacher does review on that lesson and the students reply with exactly what they have written down. Knowing the depth and importance of history, I call this memorizing, not learning. I’m really trying to make the think more critically this month, like by asking them indirect questions and working them to find that they know the answer. Organization is also somewhat flawed at the school. Even though there is a chart with the classes and times, its not always followed and sometimes students can be left for hours without a teacher or lesson. It can be because of a lazy teacher, but also maybe someone is sick and there is no one to sub in. At the end of their 7th grade year all students take a statewide test. I know that many people are against these kinds of tests in America because they don’t fit all the kids needs. And, sticks are capable items for punishment. I understand that a little whack on the toosh will keep a kid in line, but I’ve seen an excessive uses of hands and sticks on a single child. But, despite these things, these students are learning English and getting an education. Since it’s a private school they are also getting food and transportation, something most state schools don’t provide. So a state school student might walk miles and miles to school, receive nothing to keep their minds and bodies going, then trek back to begin work at home. The things we take for granted. I get a ride with my house sister on the bus every morning and evening, to and from school. But, like I said, it’s still unreal that I’m getting to teach, interact and learn with these kids this month. I also have to think about the lives of these teachers: longer commutes, more work at home maybe. I may wish they’d be better educators, but it’s not as easily done as it is in the states.
Things with my host family are going very well still. It’s my favorite place to be, besides when I actually teach. It’s the same family from January and I’m living with the same roommate, Krista. We really feel at home here. We know this is going to be a life-long family. We’re not just working and living with families this month though. For school we’re working on our Core 350 policy papers (anyone from Whitworth understands) and have two books we’re going through. I’m also taking advantage of the beautiful little library at the school full of donated books. I’ve read books to catch me up on my US history- books more interesting that text books- and one about a woman who survived sex slavery in Cambodia. It’s called The Road of Lost Innocence by Somaly Mam and I highly recommend it.
We also have two main adventures this month before spring break. The first happened the first weekend of March. We visited a Maasai village just outside of Longito, very near the Kenyan border, and were able to spend the night there. Our connection was through our very own Moses Pulei (I'm not sure the correct spelling of his name) a professor from Whitworth. He is a Maasai, so before we leave Arusha, he shows up in his traditional red plad Maasai clothing, belt and his knife and stick you never see a Maasai without. This was quite different from the slacks and button up shirt we are used to him wearing. Even more crazy is the reality that this is normal for him. He grew up like this! With him and the other educated Maasai woman- whose village we were going- and the few in the village that spoke Kiswahili as well, communication wasn't difficult. We spent most of our time with the children- open and willing to teach us their jumping games which used only lines drawn in the dirt. The liked to braid our hair and loved our cameras too. The women there were beautiful. Mostly bald with beads hanging around their necks and pulling down their earlobes. They are supported by a near by guesthouse to provides beads, then sells them and the money goes back to the women. Besides milking the goats and cows when they come home and caring for the kids, this is their other daily activity.
Speaking of goat. In our honor, the village prepared a goat for us. Moses picked it out- who ever gets to see their professor pickout a goat in the middle of a bush village??- it was sufficated, skinned, gutted, cut up, and cooked on sticks over a fire. We watched it all. The goat is sufficated to keep as much blood as they can. Blood of goats and cows is drank like milk. They didn't understand why we didn't like blood or so much fat on our meat. The rolling thunder and rain coming in from Kenya drove us into our truck to eat the meat. The main leader joined us. This old man was so comical, literally strutting his stuff when he showed us how to make a whip. Afterwards he threw it over his shoulder and strutted off, bursting into a laugh before he returned. He has alot to speak of, healthy cows, healthy village, an educated daughter. Not to mention his three wives. He was very honored to have us there.
We left back to the guest house in Longito for dinner and to prepare for the night. We went back in the rain and dark to sleep with the Maasai. We split into two groups so seven of us laid out on some cowhides on the dirt ground of one of the huts. We woke and were given tea and later went back for lunch after church. Many of the kids now attend school and church is becoming more wide spread too. So many times I've heard of "giving them better lives"- Africans and bush people. Yes, things like health and education are important, but I cant imagine putting my western culture on them. The joy in their eyes speaks too loudly. This was one of the most joyful weekends for most of our group. Sleeping in a Maasai village! Unfortunately we didn't know that if we had woken up at 4am we could have seen the elephants, zebras and giraffs that pass through every morning. No big deal.
My health is still good. Only feeling tired from the heat still sometimes. This weekend we are heading to a mountain lodge for a retreat together. I'm looking forward to that. The first week in April we go on our week long safari trip.
Woot. =]
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