I Open At The Close

The ending to my story is not nearly as dramatic as Harry Potter’s. But I thought I would take a line from the movie for my title to pay a little tribute.

When I walked into my classroom on the last day (arriving late), my 34 babies clapped and cheered and I smiled as big as ever. At the end of the day, I cried as hard as ever. It was a rollercoaster of a day. Most of the day was disappointing, honestly, as I had much less time to do as I had planned. But the kids had a wonderful goodbye ceremony for us and I received many heart-breaking letters. The most haunting thought was that I didn’t really accomplish much and that all my work would be undone in the coming years of their educations. I still fear that, but I do know that I made some good changes. The kids went around telling me their favorite things that they learned, and I was surprised to hear “good debate questions” and “writing an opinion” as well as “reptiles” and “insects.” And then Teacher John joined our circle and added that he liked our outdoor lessons, where I had the kids write what they “notice” “think” “learned” and “wonder.” Plus I know that the field trip did some long-term good for those kids. But it’s just heartbreaking to leave 34 individuals who I feel so strongly for and who I want to help so badly, after such a short period with them.

However, due to several stressful events lately, I’ve felt very ready to go for the last week or so. As I’m sitting at the airport writing this, I just feel like it hasn’t hit me that I’m about to leave. I’ve spent so long here that I think I’ve become accustomed to everything and the shock of being gone won’t hit until I’m back home. I wrote the following a few weeks ago, and I still think it captures my feelings pretty accurately:

I know I will be tempted, at the end of this, to convince myself that leaving is the worst thing that I could do, that teaching here is so much better, and that life here is “the way it should be.” And to a certain degree, those feelings will have merit. I have learned so much about what I value in education, and while I haven’t found the teaching style I prefer to be flourishing here, I have found a school with a close-knit community, a relaxed atmosphere, an inextricable connection to the outdoors, and a sweet, smart, adorable, and eager student body. It is worlds better from the stifling fluorescent halls, repressive and misguided discipline systems, cultural dissonance, and justified student rebellion that I find in so many American schools. However, I cannot allow myself to idealize this community and adopt a hippy dream of abandoning the US for a “simpler” life. While I know that I want to be less removed from the natural world and I do think that the US should become a little more “simple,” I also know that is naive to presume that a “simpler” life– technology-wise– means simpler problems. The problems that this country, region, district, and village face are all incredibly complex. I probably could not begin to understand, let alone solve, most of them.

And I do not belong here. I am a creature of change; I have lived in over 20 different houses, I’ve seen so many places, and I’ve learned so many things, that I have a constant and irrepressible desire for adventure and novelty. I do want to shake off some of this restlessness as I mature, but I know that at this point, I could not be content with a life spent in the same rural area, doing the same thing every day. I do not know how to cultivate crops, slash fields, build a mud house, carry a jerrycan full of water, or skin an animal. I am not strong. My soul has grown within a privileged body, protected from labor. Granted, I could learn these things. I could never learn, though, how to exist in a society that outlaws homosexuality and forces women to wear skirts below the knee. I could never learn to soften or silence the voice in me that questions, that calls out injustice. I could not stifle that voice that says but I don’t want to wear a skirt today. I could not accept an identity, as a woman, of an object of sexual desire to be controlled, rather than a sexual being who chooses how to control oneself.

Perhaps it’s a shame, in the grand scheme of things, that I have not been raised as a group thinker. I do not always put others’ needs before my own, I do not identify myself strongly with one particular group, and I am not always able to accept relativist morals and beliefs “for the greater good.” But I think I’m okay with that. I like being able to have thoughts I can claim as my own, I enjoy limitless learning, and I take pride in choosing people to identify with because I love them, not because of a perhaps-arbitrary grouping. I will always want to travel, and I’ll probably want to live and teach elsewhere for a period of time, but this trip has made me realize something that I didn’t really think I would ever say: the U.S. is my home. I am a product of our emphasis of individuality and personal freedoms. I see so many things wrong with my country, but I’m now closer to accepting that with knowledge (power) comes responsibility. If I am aware of problems, and have an idea of how they’re caused, it is my responsibility to at least try to solve them, even if I know my efforts are futile. If people never fought futile fights, there would be no history books. There is no greater patriotism than recognizing the faults in the country’s fabric and working tirelessly to mend them.

Now, don’t walk away from this thinking that I’m a hardcore patriot who thinks the rest of the world is backwards. Uganda is a beautiful country. Kasese is an enjoyable place to have lived. Rwentutu is an incredible place to have worked. But it is not better than the U.S., and nor is the reverse true. One day, after talking to one of my cooperating teachers about some of the complex problems in the U.S., like poverty, homelessness and discrimination and their intersection with school funding and inequity, he was stunned. He then asked me to compare certain issues with their counterparts in Uganda, and after my response, together with my assertion that I generally found it wonderful here, he asked, “So, shall I then say, that you like it better here than at home?” I replied that it’s not that simple. It’s never that simple. All places in the world have their “roses” and their “thorns” (to use a very teacher-y analogy). I could probably be generally happy living in any number of places. Just like I could be happy with any number of men (one at a time). But, as someone taught me, love comes with knowing that fact, but choosing to commit to one person anyways. Belonging to a place comes with knowing you could live anywhere in the world, but you staying to be with your family and solve problems in your community. Who knows, maybe later in my life I’ll end up moving permanently to Canada, Finland, France, Costa Rica, or somewhere and I’ll look like an idiot writing all of this. But right now, I’m ready to go home.

And at home, I will remember this as two and a half wonderful months of my life. I have so many happy memories and have learned so much. I finally became a real teacher and I had a much more enjoyable classroom placement than ever before. I also saw some pretty horrible things that will always stay with me. All these things have changed me and how I intend to live my life. I hope that you have also learned something and allowed yourself to be affected by it. Thank you for following me on my adventure.

Goodbye, Rwentutu!