Follow the leader

Anyone who has raised or lived with young children knows that they are parrots…copy cats…perfect little mirrors that reflect back to us—in often frightening detail---everything we say and do. Their hawk eyes notice every detail and their sponge-like minds absorb every bit of information. Sing a song, make a comment or say a particular word too often and you are sure to hear it repeated by them at random (and usually inconvenient) times. Indeed the most unnerving thing about a child’s natural propensity to imitate adults is that they quite innocently become tattle-tales. They betray things we mean to keep secret (like the fact that Aunt Bertha’s put on a lot of weight, or that we don’t really like grandma’s cooking and feed things to the dog when she’s not looking.) And often times, by every word and deed of theirs they declare to the world what their parents truly are like when no one is around…if they are caring…if they are yellers…if they swear…or even more unsavory things.

 As I’ve learned here in Africa, this trend doesn’t lessen with time. In the behavior and speech and attitudes of the children and youth I interact with every day I see a reflection of South African society—with all its scars and shadowy places. Often the adults of this country do their best to put on a strong face, to look forward, speak and think positively and progressively…but like a two year old child spills the beans on his daddy’s true opinion of granny’s cooking, the youth of this country reflect the truth of South African society. Our schools are plagued by violence. Not a week ago a third grader stabbed another with a pencil, drawing blood; A middle school boy was caught in the act of forcing himself on a classmate; not long before one boy hit a female classmate with the handle of a wooden broom; and I even witnessed a knife fight between two boys. When they play “school” the teacher always has a stick and if there’s a disagreement it will most often be “solved” by whomever can hit the hardest.  Though I and my colleagues have often discussed the horror and unacceptability of such behavior it has become clear to me that it is like a game of ‘monkey see, monkey do ‘or ‘follow the leader.’ In their English writing exercises students recount and allude to behaviors in the home of equal or greater horror and teachers…some of whom openly condemn things like corporal punishment I have caught in the act of doing the very same. So the rule goes: if you are angry, you hit someone; if you are frustrated, you hit someone; if you want something you take it; if you feel powerless you find someone less powerful than yourself and make them feel smaller. It’s a pervasive mentality.  Over and over the message is being reinforced. Not surprisingly, many young people suffer from chronically low self-esteem, hopelessness and a feeling of vulnerability. It is a hostile world they live in and even their homes and families aren’t the safe haven that they ought to be. 

For adults it is hardly different. They live what they have seen –as did their parents. From generation to generation it is passed on. With no one willing to stand up and break the cycle. One wonders if they know that there are other ways. Those of us who live in countries highly influenced by Christian values take things like love, self-sacrifice, positive self-image, and genuine concern for others for granted. The self-destructive tendencies apathy born of hopelessness I see in so many here in South Africa is the most painful reality I face each day. It’s the problem of ‘this’ and ‘that’ again…how can I encourage a student who does not believe they are capable of better? How can I build someone up when the rest of their world seems intent on tearing them down?  

In the end the truth is this: in the words of Gandhi, “we must be the change we want to see in the world.” Our children will always do what they see us doing…what they do is what they were taught. We must break the cycle. If we want to stop violence in schools we must stop being violent ourselves. I wonder how many of my counterparts understand this.  I wonder if they’ve ever played the game of follow the leader and if they see the way that game is being played out in their society and their village? As for myself, I can only hope that my actions will speak louder than any words could and that I by living in a different way and handling things in a different way can inspire the change we all hope to see. Maybe…just maybe... someone will follow my lead and one teacher will do things differently, and one student will start to believe in herself, and maybe it will catch on. As a foreigner everyone’s eyes are always on me. I wonder if someday THEY will reflect the good things in MY behavior that they see?

Big little things

A friend of mine, also serving here in South Africa, once said he sometimes wakes up in the morning and thinks  “Man, I'm in the Peace Corps!...It gives me a really cool feeling.” I couldn’t agree more.  Without a doubt, being in the Peace Corps is a really awesome thing. When people back home hear I’m working for two years as a volunteer in Africa I’m pretty sure the first thing that comes to their minds is lions, loin cloths, and life in a thatched hut. This invariably fills one with a sense of awe and either pity or respect for the soul who has ventured to do such a thing. I always hope for the latter of the two reactions…but whatever ones persuasion may be, it is always seen as a really BIG deal. (For those inquiring minds: No, the people here DO NOT wear loin cloths and the most impressive wildlife I’ve seen around the village as of yet are baboons and Gila monsters.)  Living and working in Africa is indeed an amazing experience. Ironically enough, however, I have been realizing that it is not big things like confronting carnivores 3 times your weight  or living without running water that make it so remarkable…it’s a lot of little things that happen to be a really big deal…

It’s the way the flatness of the land and vast horizon makes me feel a bit taller somehow.

It’s the way the Kindergarteners flock around the village after me, smiling, chanting and swinging on my arms.

It’s that feeling of electrified stillness in the air just before a severe thunderstorm… and the deafening, yet somehow comforting, cacophony of rain on the tin roof.

It’s when a tenth grade students writing assignment this week looks twice as good as last week’s.

Or when that teacher looks to me with grateful eyes and says she doesn’t know what she’d do without me.

It’s the brilliant dance of colors—from indigo to sapphire to turquoise to gold-- that chase the sun across the evening sky and beyond the horizon.

And it’s the crisp cool of the night air in the desert with its navy blanket of stars.

It’s the teenagers who come to me looking for guidance or just a listening ear and the wide excited eyes if grade 1 students whenever I enter the classroom.

It the majesty of towering thunder heads that march along the horizon--their faces catching the white rays of sunlight and the grey rain curtains beneath them trailing rainbows.

It’s sitting outside of my humble brick house having language-barrier-ridden conversations with my host mom and the way her dark eyes twinkle above her round cheeks every time I say something in my bad Setswana.

And what more can I say? The list could go on. All these are things that seem so small—everyday things most locals wouldn’t give a second though--but to me the very things that make life in Africa the big deal that it is. These are the things that I savor and cling to…the things I love most and that make me feel most loved.

The Catch 22 of Camouflage

With risk of sounding prideful, I think it is fair to say that my identity and everything about my life up to this point has been very unique. After all, how many people have African, Chinese, Irish and Indian all contributing directly to their bloodline within the past 2 generations? How many people collect degrees of higher education from different continents and speak languages that don’t seem to correspond with their complexion?  Indeed, I am never what people think I am based on my appearance and have always seen this as something good…even advantageous. I pride myself on it. I can always “blend in.” I can always connect to people by accessing that part of my heritage closest to that of the people I happen to be with. It’s a sort of paradox in my identity: inwardly I can forge a connection to almost any group of people, but outwardly I often don’t “blend in” at all!

When I was in Japan and Germany this “uniqueness” of mine was always an advantage. Since the beginning of my time here, however, it’s proved to be a double-edged sword. You see, on the one side, when I’m walking down the street I blend into the crowd. Nobody can tell I’m foreign by looking. I’m a small target for crime and locals readily trust me. They find me very approachable…to their eyes I’m one of them. The communities are quick to embrace me and nobody asks me for money (major plus being that most of my white counterparts are continually harassed!) On the other side, however, it is a hindrance.  I suddenly find myself really needing people to recognize me for what I am. I’m the help. I’m the person with the training, the education, the know-how, and connections to try improve this community…that’s why I’m here after all. When locals look at me however, they think ‘typical young South African woman’…which translated to: under-educated, inexperienced and even inferior! For the truth of South African social hierarchy is that respect and authority come with age. That means that through their “cultural goggles” I am NOT the one to consult, to trust, to allow to lead or accept advice from. They accept me, but they don’t necessarily trust my expertise and skill. I notice some teachers still consult with the principal on issues of lesson planning and subject content rather than me even though that is one of my main jobs and I am more qualified than he is. He’s a man and he’s older which makes him the natural choice. If I were a white male, however, like my predecessor things would look a lot different, indeed they did when he was here…I witnessed with my own eyes…to the South African mind it seems to be more logical that the “white man” would have expertise and the “young black woman” would not. 

It’s the lens of the Apartheid past leading to this Catch 22 of my camouflage. I see, however, that the more they witness me at work the more respect I seem to be gaining. They are beginning to see past their cultural perception to what I really am. It will be a bit of a process to prove myself, but I am assured that in the end, at least for those in my village, I will cease to be hampered by the innocent prejudice of my counterparts.

The Drag

Drag…it’s a physical phenomenon. If you have ever driven a very old model of car or ridden a bicycle against the wind you know what I’m talking about. Without starting a discourse on the scientific explanation of how it works…it should suffice to say that drag is that invisible force that resists you when you are trying to gain momentum. Its why it takes a while to reach a cruising speed on the highway and why it requires so much effort and input  (in this case through the design of the car and it’s engine) to get to that speed. The faster you are trying to move forward the stronger the drag. As for me and my life in Africa it relates this way: I’ve started on my journey…I’ve gotten to the ramp onto the highway leading to my goals and it’s time to pick up speed….but true to the laws of physics, I am starting to feel it…the drag. That subtle resistance… 

I came out of the starting gate rearing to go. Just over the past few weeks I’ve started and English club, which fully 1/3 of the school has joined, introduced a new lesson plan format and held a mini workshop on it, drafted a plan and preliminary proposal to build a library in room now full of junk and started giving additional English help in grades 1-4, and am working on organizing a substitute teacher program and drafting a new disciplinary code.  I’m excited. I’m motivated, some days I feel like super woman because of the endless array of issues I can help to fix. It is just the sort of thing I have always dreamt of doing….but then there is the drag. It looks like this…watching the 3^rd grade English lesson in which most students struggled to formulate basic sentences in the simple present (mind you, next year all of their subjects will be taught in English!) Not to mention hearing teachers themselves also struggling with the same basic sentences! It’s the SGB (School Governing Body- comprised of teachers and parents which is responsible for many of the most important school related decisions) listening to my library proposal and wanting to wait until after the next SGB election a month from now to approve it though time is of the essence… it’s the fourth grade class failing miserably on their first vocabulary assessment after showing such understanding during the review….it’s the brand new copy machines at both schools breaking down simultaneously 3 weeks into the school year…it’s the frequent absence and apparent disinterest of one of my supervisors in either functioning of the institution he’s supposed to manage or the projects I’m attempting to implement…and it’s the inability to work in support of teachers as planned because there’s so much slack being left by others that we who are dedicated must spread ourselves very thin. 

To return to the analogy: In the physical world, some serious measures have to be taken to overcome drag. Things have to be redesigned…reshaped…remolded… Drag cannot be eliminated, it can only be reduced they call it aerodynamics in English. The question that now remains is how can I be more aerodynamic given the drag I’m facing here? What needs to be reshaped and how? Do I need to give more effort? Push harder (i.e. more horse power)…Do I need to change my shape? Take a different approach? As an American speed is everything. Making good time and not wasting a moment is everything…always we feel the clock ticking in our very souls and it provokes an endless drive. It is part of what makes us successful in many things…I wonder, however, could that be what needs to change? Perhaps I’m feeling the drag so strongly because I’m try to go to fast…who knows…