1/25/2009
I mentioned in a previous blog that my middle school burned down. Well, it’s sad but true. It happened a few days before New Years. As it is was told to me, some kids were playing with matches… And I am sure you can guess the rest. The school was not yet state-sponsored, meaning it lacked a proper building. The two classrooms for grades 5 and 6 (these grades do not really correlate with American grade levels) are housed in a separate structure than grades 4 and 3. Actually, the classroom for grade 3 hasn’t even been built yet; that’s next year. The structures are made of wooden posts and straw roofs and walls. This year three mud walls were constructed for the chalkboards in the classrooms in question. In both classrooms combined there were about 50 wooden benches/desks. So you can imagine the havoc fire would do to a school built primarily of wood and straw. Everything was destroyed except for parts of the mud walls. I found about this four or five days after it happened. My counterpart told me and was shocked that no one had bothered to mention to me previously, especially since I hold all my club there so I kind of, sort of work there. I was told that maybe the reason no one said anything was due to shame, but I have no idea if this was the case. My counterpart told me also that the beginning of the second trimester would be delayed in order to reconstruct the building. He told me that rebuilding the walls and roof wasn’t such a big deal as the materials are pretty cheap, especially this time of year. The concern rested the desks. Desks or more accurately the wood for desks is not only hard to find but also very expensive. This poor school already has a hard enough time raising money to fund its normal expenses let alone the additional sum of rebuilding 50 new desks. But, they persevere and somehow manage to find a way. And the while my counterpart is telling me this I can’t stop smiling and even snicker a little – like what else can go wrong.
Friday, January 16th my village received a very special visit from the only female government minister. Oddly enough, she happens to come from my area of Togo, which is a testament to her strength and ambition since I live in one of the least female-friendly areas of Togo. She found out that the school burned down, so she went out and bought enough tin to build a roof. The 16th was the day she came to my village to present her gifts and see the school. My village went crazy. Of course, all my work got canceled for the afternoon. School was let out. The village ladies all brought out their Tchouk (local beer) and Soja (soy cheese) to sell. A whole ceremony was organized for the Minister’s arrival including speeches, singing, dancing, drums, marching and more speeches. It was actually really nice to see not only a Togolese person being generous, but a government official at that. She not brought the tin for the school, but brought soccer balls, and notebooks and calendars and chalk. I thought well maybe it was a good thing the school burned down because they never would have received this otherwise. The Minister even gave 20,000 francs CFA (about $40) to the community, but didn’t stipulate what it was to be used for, so of course people wanted it to drink. I think the Prefet was even called in the mediate that situation. I made an appearance at this ceremony as it would have been rude not to come, but I thankfully for one of the times got to hang back in the crowd, blend in and be apart of the masses.
So last Tuesday I went to the school to say hello, to see how things were going. The students were rebuilding the mud walls. I asked my school director when they were going to put up the roof. He said probably not until next year. Next year?! Why, I asked. Because the Minister only bought the tin, she didn’t buy any of the nails or braces or the wood for the beams/rafters nor did she pay for the labor it will cost to put the roof on. My director informed that all of these things cost and cost a lot, and the school still doesn’t have all the desks replaced yet. So, students are squished together on these benches three and four to a bench instead of the normal two and are expected to continue to learn. I guess, at least, they not sitting on the dirt floor.
I feel terrible laughing about all this, but it is just to a point of absurdity and ridiculousness. This poor school can’t seem to catch a brake, and the person I feel the most for is my counterpart who works tirelessly not just with one school but both the middle and primary schools and he works with the village development committee not to mention with me – Peace Corps.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
As It Turns Out, of All Living Creatures, I Like Helping Humans the Least
1/13/2009
Today I was leisurely starting my day by brewing a cup of hazelnut coffee. Yum! Yum! I was carefully determining the proper amount of coffee to milk ratio when I heard commotion outside. Initially, I thought it was a chicken getting into mischief and paying for it when I glanced up out of my kitchen window, and to my horror, saw my host father body slamming a goat down on the compound floor. He stepped on its neck, choking it. He stomped on its mouth and face repeatedly. Shocked, I literally couldn’t believe what I was seeing for a second, until I couldn’t watch. I spun around, threw my hands to my mouth and sobbed. I haven’t cried like that in quite a while. I walked into my bedroom and sat on the end of my bed so no one could hear me. I cried for that goat. That might sound silly to you, but the sight was brutal. Granted, it was a fully grown goat but so is my host dad and he was furious. I have no idea what the goat did to provoke that response, but that kind of abuse is unacceptable on any living creature. Now it did cross my mind to run out there and ask him to stop, but I didn’t because it wouldn’t have made a difference. First, he would have looked at me like I was crazy and probably wouldn’t have stopped. That is how animals are treated here and what he was doing was totally normal or at least acceptable. Anything I could have said won’t change this behavior, at least, not any time soon. Second, I was too late; by the time I could have pulled myself together, the goat would have already received to majority of the beating. So instead, I apologized to the goat through my sobbing breaths.
I keep thinking about our (humans) relationship to animals, plants and the environment, but animals mostly. I make it a point to greet them… if that sounds weird… as well as send them mental images or emotions. Anyway, this subject matter keeps coming up in books I’m reading. The most recent was The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. There was a quotation in the book that resonated with me enough to write it down: “True human goodness, in all its parity and freedom, can come to the fore only when its recipient has no power. Mankind’s true moral test, its fundamental test… consists of its attitude toward those who are at it its mercy: animals.”
Today I was leisurely starting my day by brewing a cup of hazelnut coffee. Yum! Yum! I was carefully determining the proper amount of coffee to milk ratio when I heard commotion outside. Initially, I thought it was a chicken getting into mischief and paying for it when I glanced up out of my kitchen window, and to my horror, saw my host father body slamming a goat down on the compound floor. He stepped on its neck, choking it. He stomped on its mouth and face repeatedly. Shocked, I literally couldn’t believe what I was seeing for a second, until I couldn’t watch. I spun around, threw my hands to my mouth and sobbed. I haven’t cried like that in quite a while. I walked into my bedroom and sat on the end of my bed so no one could hear me. I cried for that goat. That might sound silly to you, but the sight was brutal. Granted, it was a fully grown goat but so is my host dad and he was furious. I have no idea what the goat did to provoke that response, but that kind of abuse is unacceptable on any living creature. Now it did cross my mind to run out there and ask him to stop, but I didn’t because it wouldn’t have made a difference. First, he would have looked at me like I was crazy and probably wouldn’t have stopped. That is how animals are treated here and what he was doing was totally normal or at least acceptable. Anything I could have said won’t change this behavior, at least, not any time soon. Second, I was too late; by the time I could have pulled myself together, the goat would have already received to majority of the beating. So instead, I apologized to the goat through my sobbing breaths.
I keep thinking about our (humans) relationship to animals, plants and the environment, but animals mostly. I make it a point to greet them… if that sounds weird… as well as send them mental images or emotions. Anyway, this subject matter keeps coming up in books I’m reading. The most recent was The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. There was a quotation in the book that resonated with me enough to write it down: “True human goodness, in all its parity and freedom, can come to the fore only when its recipient has no power. Mankind’s true moral test, its fundamental test… consists of its attitude toward those who are at it its mercy: animals.”
::Smile::
1/7/2009
I love my village. I am always happy to come home.
Kossia’s third child, Donné, who is now 4 months old seems taken with me. Every time he sees me, he smiles a dimpled grin. It is a wonder – a gift from him to me. So, I decided to take some video of him.
I love my village. I am always happy to come home.
Kossia’s third child, Donné, who is now 4 months old seems taken with me. Every time he sees me, he smiles a dimpled grin. It is a wonder – a gift from him to me. So, I decided to take some video of him.
Retarded Creativity
1/7/2009
There’s this prevailing sense of dread these days, totally work related. I was sitting in the only functioning classroom of my middle school today (the other classrooms burned down during New Years. It was an accident, a story for another time.) noting the muscles in my neck and shoulders twist with tension upon the realization that yet again no students were showing up for my study skills club. This after a potential, although not yet confirmed, second failed attempt to organize a volunteer soccer tournament in my region, the impending pipedream of actually seeing my fellow villagers come through for me on their promised Moringa training sessions, and lest I forget I may have offended my Primary School Director who is already covertly uninterested in helping or even supporting my work. I could go into other damaged relationships in my life, as there seem to be many of late, but I will spare you.
I suppose I was fortunate enough to have my girls show up for the Girls Club today. But unfortunately, as the saying goes: when it rains, it pours. Two full sessions of discussion finished, examples displayed and explained, handouts distributed, instructions communicated and an enthusiastic response received – would you say I’d covered most of my bases with the students? Their task was simple enough, or so I assumed, silly me, write their own fairy tale. We are in our Creative Writing sessions and I researched and typed up all kinds of information – definitions and explanations of basic fairy tale concepts as basic as what is “fiction” and “imagination”. I brought in books from the library with pictures! They even shared an example with me of a tale from their culture. So the assigned exercise for this section was to go home with their handouts and notes and examples fresh in their mind and write their own tale of magical characters and harrowing adventures.
If ever you wanted an example of how creatively challenged these kids are, today’s results should be enlightening. The girls presented their stories today by standing in front and reading aloud. Out of 22 girls present, four or five didn’t do the assignment which was fine as it was voluntary, only about four girls wrote original tales and the rest copied out of two books I saw floating around the classroom prior to the session. There were even a few girls that had copied the same story. I believe this sort of thing is called plagiarism and looked down upon. When the same story first appeared twice, I told them the only person they were hurting was themselves. There was no need to cheat since the club is for fun; there are no grades and no exams. About half way through the presentations, I saw the books and realized what had happened much to my disappointment. I started second guessing what I had done. Was I not clear on the exercise? What could I have done differently? At the end of the presentations, I confronted them. I told them I wasn’t angry; I was sad because this was an opportunity to share a piece of themselves with us, a gift of their spirit, to show us how special and unique they are. I reiterated what I said before on how copying does nothing for them. It doesn’t exercise their mind or imagination, and therefore, they make no progress, no improvement. I also emphasized the fact that the club is for them and if something is boring or uninteresting, they can tell me and I will make modifications. I’m flexible; I’m here for them and that the club is totally voluntary.
When I saw their faces light up when I showed them the examples I had brought from the library, I thought, “ok, they’re into it.” Today’s meeting once again reinforces, for me, how creative thought and critical thinking and risk taking are simply not supported here in the way they are chez moi. My next session is on Autobiographies. Let’s hope they don’t plagiarize their own lives.
Update as of 1/25/2009: The Soccer Tournament was canceled again and will not be rescheduled, at least, not by me. I couldn’t find enough players. The Moringa training sessions are going a little rough, but they’re coming along. I usually end up taking over at some point during the presentations. The real test will be the second training in May/June.
There’s this prevailing sense of dread these days, totally work related. I was sitting in the only functioning classroom of my middle school today (the other classrooms burned down during New Years. It was an accident, a story for another time.) noting the muscles in my neck and shoulders twist with tension upon the realization that yet again no students were showing up for my study skills club. This after a potential, although not yet confirmed, second failed attempt to organize a volunteer soccer tournament in my region, the impending pipedream of actually seeing my fellow villagers come through for me on their promised Moringa training sessions, and lest I forget I may have offended my Primary School Director who is already covertly uninterested in helping or even supporting my work. I could go into other damaged relationships in my life, as there seem to be many of late, but I will spare you.
I suppose I was fortunate enough to have my girls show up for the Girls Club today. But unfortunately, as the saying goes: when it rains, it pours. Two full sessions of discussion finished, examples displayed and explained, handouts distributed, instructions communicated and an enthusiastic response received – would you say I’d covered most of my bases with the students? Their task was simple enough, or so I assumed, silly me, write their own fairy tale. We are in our Creative Writing sessions and I researched and typed up all kinds of information – definitions and explanations of basic fairy tale concepts as basic as what is “fiction” and “imagination”. I brought in books from the library with pictures! They even shared an example with me of a tale from their culture. So the assigned exercise for this section was to go home with their handouts and notes and examples fresh in their mind and write their own tale of magical characters and harrowing adventures.
If ever you wanted an example of how creatively challenged these kids are, today’s results should be enlightening. The girls presented their stories today by standing in front and reading aloud. Out of 22 girls present, four or five didn’t do the assignment which was fine as it was voluntary, only about four girls wrote original tales and the rest copied out of two books I saw floating around the classroom prior to the session. There were even a few girls that had copied the same story. I believe this sort of thing is called plagiarism and looked down upon. When the same story first appeared twice, I told them the only person they were hurting was themselves. There was no need to cheat since the club is for fun; there are no grades and no exams. About half way through the presentations, I saw the books and realized what had happened much to my disappointment. I started second guessing what I had done. Was I not clear on the exercise? What could I have done differently? At the end of the presentations, I confronted them. I told them I wasn’t angry; I was sad because this was an opportunity to share a piece of themselves with us, a gift of their spirit, to show us how special and unique they are. I reiterated what I said before on how copying does nothing for them. It doesn’t exercise their mind or imagination, and therefore, they make no progress, no improvement. I also emphasized the fact that the club is for them and if something is boring or uninteresting, they can tell me and I will make modifications. I’m flexible; I’m here for them and that the club is totally voluntary.
When I saw their faces light up when I showed them the examples I had brought from the library, I thought, “ok, they’re into it.” Today’s meeting once again reinforces, for me, how creative thought and critical thinking and risk taking are simply not supported here in the way they are chez moi. My next session is on Autobiographies. Let’s hope they don’t plagiarize their own lives.
Update as of 1/25/2009: The Soccer Tournament was canceled again and will not be rescheduled, at least, not by me. I couldn’t find enough players. The Moringa training sessions are going a little rough, but they’re coming along. I usually end up taking over at some point during the presentations. The real test will be the second training in May/June.
Frommage!
1/6/2009
Despite what you may have heard, people here love getting their picture taken, especially when there’s the instant gratification of digital cameras. I delight in the squeals of excitement and laughter I get when I can turn my camera around and show them their very own pixilated image so much so that I often throw my head back in laughter too. I romanticize the day when I can send my fellow villagers hard copies of these photos and they can continue to goggle at the wonderment of technology.
Despite what you may have heard, people here love getting their picture taken, especially when there’s the instant gratification of digital cameras. I delight in the squeals of excitement and laughter I get when I can turn my camera around and show them their very own pixilated image so much so that I often throw my head back in laughter too. I romanticize the day when I can send my fellow villagers hard copies of these photos and they can continue to goggle at the wonderment of technology.
The Beginning of the End
12/30/2008
I am more excited to welcome this New Year’s celebration than any other in resent memory. It marks a milestone for me, one I’ve waited for in great anticipation. This January 1st will not simply be another party and all its spoils it will be the light at the end of the tunnel. And now, I get to savor these moments since their demise is imminent and make them all that more precious.
I am more excited to welcome this New Year’s celebration than any other in resent memory. It marks a milestone for me, one I’ve waited for in great anticipation. This January 1st will not simply be another party and all its spoils it will be the light at the end of the tunnel. And now, I get to savor these moments since their demise is imminent and make them all that more precious.
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