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"Gooooood Mowning Teeeechas. Gooooood Mowning Sistaaaas. Howww aaaah youuuu?” It’s difficult keeping a “serious face” when one hundred 7th, 8th, and 9th grade Sesotho students offer you such a warm greeting in unison. It was my first daily assembly. As the students proceeded to sing the St. Peter Claver School song, I quickly removed the smile that’d appeared on my face. During teacher training, I’d been advised by another teacher, “Don’t smile until Christmas. They’ll think you’re a pushover.” Despite the students’ charm and my joy, my legs trembled, and I was thankful I’d worn a long skirt my first day. All I could think was, “A year ago you were still a student, Sarah. High school students will never buy this act.”
Somehow when the Zimbabwean head administrator, Sr. Melta, asked me to say a few words to the hundred or so students, all I could muster was: “Hi, I’m Sarah. I’m 23 years old, and I’m from America. I’m from Colorado, where we have the beautiful Rocky Mountains and where it snows a lot. I heard you don’t have snow here. (Laughs galore). I’ll miss the snow and my family and friends in the States, but I’m so happy to be here with you this year.” Their applause and smiles assuaged the lump in my throat. Three weeks have passed, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t let more than a few smiles slip. I’m learning to live with that. Teaching’s more natural for me than I’d thought.
St. Peter’s runs through the ninth grade, and I’m working with the oldest two grades. I must say, while I cherish the delightfully artless grins of the primary students as I greet them in the schoolyard, there’s something to love in these mischievous, pubescent 8th and 9th graders. That first day, I sat in on a 9th grade social science class taught by Marie, a spunky young teacher wearing a worn-in newspaper boy’s hat, a blue striped skirt, and teal leather sandals. She wrote the words development and infrastructure on the board. “Who here can tell me… What is development? What does it mean to say a country has been developed,” she asked, just like that. “To improve somewhere” one young man shouted. “To have lots of jobs and everyone having money to buy a house, food, and clothing,” chimed another. Several students shouted, “Not like we have here!”
To the students, their part of South Africa is not “developed,” but “undeveloped.” In my university classes, we often used the term “developing,” but it struck me that these terms are inherently relative to the perspective of the person using them. These students see little evidence that their community is “developing,” so it simply remains “undeveloped” in their eyes.
St. Peter’s runs through the ninth grade, and I’m working with the oldest two grades. I must say, while I cherish the delightfully artless grins of the primary students as I greet them in the schoolyard, there’s something to love in these mischievous, pubescent 8th and 9th graders. That first day, I sat in on a 9th grade social science class taught by Marie, a spunky young teacher wearing a worn-in newspaper boy’s hat, a blue striped skirt, and teal leather sandals. She wrote the words development and infrastructure on the board. “Who here can tell me… What is development? What does it mean to say a country has been developed,” she asked, just like that. “To improve somewhere” one young man shouted. “To have lots of jobs and everyone having money to buy a house, food, and clothing,” chimed another. Several students shouted, “Not like we have here!”
To the students, their part of South Africa is not “developed,” but “undeveloped.” In my university classes, we often used the term “developing,” but it struck me that these terms are inherently relative to the perspective of the person using them. These students see little evidence that their community is “developing,” so it simply remains “undeveloped” in their eyes.
The poverty in Maokeng, the township outside Kroonstad where the Sisters of Notre Dame built this school more than a half century ago, is striking. The children live here but have heard stories of what big houses there are just a few hours drive away in Johannesburg, where most of them have never been. The juxtaposition of developed suburbs of Johannesburg and impoverished townships like Maokeng smacked me in the face with the reality of inequity on a scale that’s even incomparable to homelessness in the U.S. or the poverty I saw in rural Saltillo, Mexico. And if the lack of food, running water, and electricity in many parts, diseases like tuberculosis and HIV devastate this community. Children and adults die from opportunistic diseases and the effects of AIDS on a weekly basis. On Saturdays in Maokeng, every tenth home or so a crude displays a white tent in front of it, indicating that someone in that home has died.
As the class discussion continued, Marie and I began to teach the class together. In their workbooks, the students read aloud a lesson about the “Rich North” and the “Poor South,” analyzing a world map that assigned southern Asia (excluding Australia), South America, and Africa to the latter category. I hoped Marie wouldn’t ask me for my input as a person from the "Rich North," but inevitably, she did. The students asked me what its like to live in a place where you have the option of many jobs. They were shocked to hear that anyone in the U.S. was homeless, but even as I explained this reality for some Americans, I knew in my mind that few in the U.S., even our homeless, know starvation like some of these kids. The only food many of them consume throughout the week are the five free lunches the nuns make them at school. Hunger pangs from Friday evening to Monday sure take the fun out of a weekend.
As the class discussion continued, Marie and I began to teach the class together. In their workbooks, the students read aloud a lesson about the “Rich North” and the “Poor South,” analyzing a world map that assigned southern Asia (excluding Australia), South America, and Africa to the latter category. I hoped Marie wouldn’t ask me for my input as a person from the "Rich North," but inevitably, she did. The students asked me what its like to live in a place where you have the option of many jobs. They were shocked to hear that anyone in the U.S. was homeless, but even as I explained this reality for some Americans, I knew in my mind that few in the U.S., even our homeless, know starvation like some of these kids. The only food many of them consume throughout the week are the five free lunches the nuns make them at school. Hunger pangs from Friday evening to Monday sure take the fun out of a weekend.
Despite challenges like empty bellies, these students haven’t ceased to amaze me since that first day. One of many funny anecdotes: The 8th and 9th graders are currently working on science projects, and I agreed to help two boys with their project on whether Lucozade (sports drink), Coca-Cola (yes, it’s made its way everywhere), or water is better for athletes before their workout (the World Cup has infiltrated every part of their psyches lol). I agreed to give them a ride to the library in town after school. To my surprise, nine other students were waiting for me at the library, informing me of the order in which they came so I’d know who to help first. Helping those two boys for a few hours turned into meeting students for the next several weeks… They’ll wait for hours just for fifteen minutes of your undivided attention. The students have continued coming in droves, walking the two kilometers to town or taking a “taxi” (a man with some mechanized vehicle) if they can get the five rand (about 80 cents) to pay for it.
The library is miserably outdated, the newest book being at least twenty years old. But we’re doing our best. The projects are due on Thursday, so it’ll be a busy week…
Hi Sarah,
ReplyDeleteI saw Emily at graduation this weekend, and she told me about your blog. It's great to hear you are doing well! I'm sure that teaching will bring challenging days, but I'm also sure that you'll do amazing work. Peace, Kari Kloos