So, I spent my first week at Rwentutu Christian School. It
mostly was great, but things are always more complicated than that, so let me
try to explain.
First, a bit of background: this is a private primary
school, with three nursery classes (Baby & Middle are like preschool and
Top is like Kindergarten), and P1 through P7 (1st through 7th
grade). Each grade is one class. Apparently most public schools are
understaffed and can have 75 students in one class, but this is a private
school, so most classes are under 30 students (which I think is still a lot to
handle). After P7, students take a national exam to determine their acceptance
to secondary school, which is 6 years. They take another exam after the 4th
year, and then again for entrance into university. A professor at Makerere
University told us that the curriculum and examinations essentially “filter
out” students, since Uganda doesn’t have the capactity to send all children
through the educational system. Anyways, the school has about 180 students,
some of whom board there. It was started in 2007 with funds from Amos, a now
Canadian professor and former Ugandan politician. We are living in his house,
and behind us live his sister’s family. On the school property lives his
brother Sam, the school groundskeeper, and his family, including his daughter
Doreen, when she’s not living with us. It took me a while to piece together the
family tree, ha. Many people are related at the school, which is maybe why there’s
a fantastic sense of community there. Babies will wander around, but no one
worries, because someone, probably older kids, will take care of them.
The first day was actually great. New students and their
parents were coming to register and teachers were interviewing students to
place them in the correct grade (what you know takes priority over how old you
are here) or planning their curriculum for the next term. So there was no
teaching, and we basically just hung out with kids. We played games, held
babies, had girls braid our hair, and were taught some Lhukonzo. Most of the
students I spent time with were P4 girls, who I knew I wouldn’t teach, so I was
a little disappointed that I hadn’t gotten to know any of my potential
students, but the school is so small that it’s good to establish relationships
with other kids, too.
The second day, registration and interviewing continued, and
even though classes started, it seemed like mass confusion. I first observed a
P5 class, which I was disapointed to find was an unplanned review of material
from P4, taken straight from the textbook and filled with errors. Over the next
three days– the only three days we had to observe and base our placement
decision off of– things continued to be haphazard and I had to push for teachers
to actually be in class. I was frustrated by teachers arriving to class 20 minutes
after students were ready and giving me the wrong information repeatedly. I knew I had to be flexible, and some of my
discomfort came from the fact that I am a very organized person, but most of my
frustration came for the students’ sake. Here were 30 ready-to-learn students
in their desks, students who would complete any task asked of them, who see how
education is essential to changing their future, who walk sometimes an hour to
get there (the school can’t afford a bus), whose families struggle to pay the school
fees, and their teacher was not there.
I asked Doreen why the registration and interviewing
couldn’t be held before school actually started (she’s the school bursar). She
replied that they did have a few days designated for this purpose, but very few
parents came. I asked why, were they just uninformed? “No, they do not want to
have to pay for transport twice,” she replied, “because they already must pay
to bus here, sometimes from very far away, to take their children on the first
day, so they do not want to have to come here another day.” I felt so stupid. I
hadn’t even considered that this would be an issue. So this is why everything
has been so chaotic; teachers really needed to take care of administrative things
first. And they hadn’t planned out the daily schedule or the lessons yet
probably because of the same transportation issue. Though it still seems to me
that teachers show up late and will often leave the class with work to copy
from the blackboard after the first
week, which I’m assuming from the
students’ nonchalant acceptance of these conditions. I know that time is more
elastic here and teachers cannot be blamed for their difference in pedagogy
from mine, but I still want to be different. While I do want to be changed by
this experience, I don’t think it’s necessary to change everything about
yourself, and I hold my value of instructional time and pedagogy too dear.
I’ve realized how lucky I am, though, to have been able to
shape that educational philosophy at a university full of resources and
knowledge. Most of this realization came after a few conversations with a
teacher at the school, who I will call Pauline. At first, I had a shamefully
inexplicable dislike for her. She was disheveled, awkward, and didn’t seem to
understand that I was there to observe, not to teach on my first day there.
Then she told me that she too had been told the wrong information several
times; she hadn’t prepared for this class’s lesson because she was told she’d
be teaching the subject in 2 other grades. She was thrown off and desperate for
my help. In later conversations, I realized that my dislike was really directed
at the differences between us, which was unfair. “Do you like Africans?” she
asked me. I was so thrown off by this question that I laughed. “Do some people
not?” I asked. “No,” she said, deeply serious, “there are some mzungu who come to work at Bwera Hospital
who do their work, read in their free time, and do not even look at us.” I
suggested that perhaps it was a misunderstanding, but was struck by her desire
for approval by the outside world. I’ve noticed this in conversations with
others; they seem to be self-conscious about their “third world” label and
consider themselves less advanced than others. But I’ll talk about that later.
Madame Pauline’s words sum up the difference between our
lives: “Life here is hard.” She asked me if I ever digged. No, I guess I didn’t
dig that much. She asked me why I stayed all the way in Kasese instead of there
in Rwentutu. But before I could answer she said, “Ah I know. There’s no
electricity here and it gets very dark at night.” She implied that we were too
good for this simplicity, and guilt set in. The four of us consider the house
in Kasese different from what we’re used to; we aren’t used to boiling water to
drink it, being woken up by roosters, being subject to the internet or power
going out at any time (now, I’m just grateful it isn’t the water), etc. But we’re still very privileged. We have a
sturdy house with a tiled roof (instead of tin, which is awfully loud when it
rains), painted walls, electricity, refridgerators… While we’ve seen a lot of towns and homes that
defy the African stereotype, there are indeed people living in mud-and-stick
huts (many of them have tin roofs). It was awful to realize that while I
thought I was being open to stepping outside my comfort zone, I was still
within a wider comfort zone. We’ve still limited our own experiences. If the
program had us living “in the bush,” none of us probably would have signed up
for it. It makes me think about how what you’re willing to try limits what you
will consequently learn.
So how could I blame Pauline for her writing of “carnivores”
as “canibals,” her lack of world geography knowledge, her misunderstanding of
curriculum, and her simple instruction methods? How could she possibly know
these things? Here was a woman who knew a lot more about Rwentutu than I did,
and who had at least gotten a teaching job, where she did not have to dig. But
she still made me realized how much I like being educated about things beyond
the small sphere of where I live; I like knowing
where Ghana, Madrid, and Antarctica are, what otters and icebergs are, and how
to use cameras, band-aids, and contact lenses (I got dust in my eye once and
cleaning my contact attracted a crowd of wide-eyed kids). As much as I have to
criticize about American society and how distant we are from the natural world
and a simple life, I have to wonder how much of that is necessary in order to
have the knowledge I now treasure.
Pauline also reminded me that people here cannot help but
staring at us. Staring like this doesn’t happen where I live, because Madison
is very diverse. But here, I can understand how people would be curious about
us, even if they’ve seen bazungu before.
It’s just hard to be accepting of that all
the time. I’m not always in the
mood to smile at people when they blankly stare at me. I don’t always want to feel like I’m in a
parade. We had a fun day planned for us yesterday (Friday), but it was
partially ruined by this feeling. We drove through Bwera, a town bordering the
Congo, went to government-run hospital there (the biggest in the area), Bwera
Secondary School, a restaurant, the border with the Congo, and a market nearby,
which were all valuable experiences, but I constantly felt paraded around. It
was so uncomfortable that I didn’t take any pictures. I wanted desperately to
be an unnoticed observer, without the pressure of representing how white people
view Africans. This trip was also somewhat ruined for me by the surprises and
lack of organization. We were told we would be in Bwera by 10:30. We didn’t
even leave the school until 11, because the teachers wanted to show us how to
use a planning book (which I could have figured out myself, but I guess the
gesture was nice). We were told we were going to the market; we were not told
about everything else. It was 1:00 when I finally told Enoch that I really had
to eat because I only had a banana for breakfast at 5:30. It was 2:00 when we
finally ate. We were told that things would be like this, and that flexibility
is a must, and I’m trying really hard to be flexible. It just feels like we
must be flexible for others, we are subject to others’ whims, but others aren’t
always considering our perspectives or desires.
Here I’ll interject a huge ANYWAYS…. I chose P6 as my class!
Before coming here, I was pretty set on that, but it was actually a pretty hard
decision. The P5 class was smaller, had more kid-like energy, and were less
intimidating. But the P6 students just seemed so much more mature and ready to
handle deep topics (and humor). On Wednesday, their English teacher wasn’t in
class, so I read Fantastic Mr. Fox to
them for the whole period. I was stunned by their silent attention and I
realized that stories would be fun with this group. Plus, one student, Deborah,
stole my heart from day one; she approached the four of us and asked us about
our lives & our time in Kasese, and then later bonded with me while talking
about our families and what we want out of life. She’s incredibly mature and smart,
and I hope to meet more students like her. Also, I was DELIGHTED to discover
that we didn’t have to teach English and math- we could choose! Social studies
is my jam, but the whole term will be spent talking about East Africa, which I
found a little too intimidating. So I chose English and science! The first
topic in science is animal classification, which I’m pumped about. English
class is covering vocabulary related to traffic/road safety, which is weird,
but I’ll give it my best. I’m still not really clear on when I’m expected to
teach and what I’m supposed to plan, but I’m going to prepare as much as I can.
Off to plan some dope lessons! Thanks for reading!
P.S. Sorry there’s no pictures… I’ll try to do an
all-picture post on Monday
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