One of the parts of my trip that I was most looking forward to was going back to the school where I used to teach. I planned my travels meticulously so that I would arrive before the end of term. When I left the school last year I thought there was no way I could be back so soon. That I happened to be passing through Malawi at the same time as two other volunteers I met last year who also thought the same thing made the circumstances that much more thrilling. The first day I was set to go to the school, I woke up absolutely giddy and set out when it was still dark. In a two-hour walk there are ample opportunities to make wrong turns, but I found that when I stopped trying to remember the way, I drifted in the right direction. Unfortunately when I got there, I found that school had closed four days earlier, a week before I had been told it would. I was crushed, especially after the mad dash from Mozambique. One of the teachers, Rabecca, lives near the school so I headed to her house to see her, and her son, granddaughter and nieces that had all been in my class, as well as the baby she was pregnant with last time I saw her.
Sadly, Rabecca’s five-year-old son, Lightman had passed away a few weeks after I left last year. Such is long distance communication from rural Malawi to, well, anywhere, that I hadn’t heard about it until I asked her that day where he was. Lightman was a wild little boy. He would spend all morning driving me crazy running around the room and knocking down the two-year-olds. Then he would climb into my lap, give me these strangling hugs and coo “sabizi, sabizi,” which means teacher. Although young children die all the time here, it was still shocking to hear. The fact that he had been dead for so long made the news even more strange and awful because it somehow made my grief seem inappropriate and out of place. I anxiously named all of the other children I remembered, and asked if they were ok. Rabecca would giggle and say, “ah, he is alright” or “she is alright.”
After visiting Rabecca, I went to other teacher, Mary’s house. She knew through the bush telegraph that I was on my way, so she was waiting for me with her daughter Esther. Last time I saw Esther, she was a floppy newborn, and now she is this big, gorgeous, banana- eating one year old. Mary’s husband had passed away since I was last here, and it has been a huge loss to the community, and of course to Mary and her six children. Frank passed away in May, and I did hear about it before I got to Malawi, so Mary and I were both spared the awkwardness of me asking where he was. I fed Esther bananas and Mary told me about all of the others in the community who had passed away that year, and others who are sick. Even for a rural village in a poor country with little access to nutrition and health care the number of deaths seemed unusually high, and the whole village seems to be collectively grieving. At the same time there is little talk about HIV/AIDS, which is likely a huge factor in all of this. People talk about the disease in abstract terms, but no one openly says they are infected, which can only exacerbate the spread and limit the quality of life for those living with the disease.
One good piece of news did come out of my visit with Mary; she promised to reopen the school for a day later that week so I could see the children. Actually, she gave me two good pieces of news. When I was at the school earlier that day I was keeping an eye out for Sam, my very dedicated, stoned and silent stalker who used to follow me everywhere last year. I asked Mary what he was up to these days, and she told me I wouldn’t even recognize him if I saw him now. When I asked why, she said, “Now he bathes.” When I asked if he would try to find and/or follow me, she assured me not.
Two days later I went to the school and saw some of my old students. Many were visiting family out of town and others live in further villages and didn’t get the message, but Rabecca and Mary organized quite a crowd. About half the children I didn’t recognize, and they were the scabbiest, snottiest group of kids I’ve ever seen. I imagined Rabecca running all over the village collecting abandoned children and dragging them to school to make me happy. (It worked).
I was happy to hear that some of the oldest children whose parents kept sending them to nursery school for the free meals are finally in primary school. It was also good to see that some of the children have grown considerably since last year and seem to be happy and healthy and learning. One girl, who was named Diana last year is now called Joyce and she is still beating up all the other children. Laban who used to be this sticky, little, spherical child sucking on bits of cellophane stretched out a little and came to school chewing on a nail. Another boy, Charles, (who for ages I thought was named “Chalo”) now brings his 18-month-old brother to school with him. The last time I saw this baby, Rabecca was wrestling him out of the sling on his mother’s back while his mother was wrestling her husband’s girlfriend (who says small town life is dull?). Charles drags his brother around the school and takes swigs out of his bottle when he thinks no one is looking. When I asked Charles his brother’s name he said, “Ugly.”
The teachers ran a little lesson complete with the calendar chant, days of the week chant, counting numbers chant, alphabet chant and the let us pray chant. These kids are chanting machines. Then they did some colors and shape activities that look a little something like this:
Teacher: Rhoda, come point to the color red.
(Rhoda points to green)
Teacher: Is that right?
Entire Class: NOOOOOOOOO!
Teacher: Sit down! [you incorrect, delinquent child!]
Teacher: Maria, come point to the color red
(Maria points to red)
Teacher: Clap hands for Maria
Entire Class: Wello done! wello done! Shoowa! Bleep blip blop! Tala!
(Well done! Well done! Sure! Keep it up! Tala! There isn’t really a direct translation for “tala,” but it means something like, take the good thing you just did and put it in your pocket.)
Then the teachers looked at me and said, “teach us something,” which was definitely not something I had prepared to do. Perhaps sensing my panic, the children and teachers started shouting out requests of (English) games and songs I used to do with them. The unanimous class favorite is the get up and dance song, which involves me singing for each child to dance one at a time. But when there are thirty-something kids in the class, I am panting and hoarse by 17th verse, and the end of the song is nowhere in sight. They all do the same dance move where they put their hands on their waist and wiggle their hips in the fiercest possible manner. When I got to Charles’ brother, I asked Rabecca his name just to be sure. She said, “Ugly.” I asked her to repeat it, and she said, “UG-LEE.” But I couldn’t bring myself to sing “Get up and dance, Ugly” so I sang, “get up and dance, hmmhmm.”
After get up and dance and a few more songs, Mary and Rabecca and the children took me to their new garden which involved a perilous walk during which all but the most coordinated children slid or rolled down a hill into a ditch. The children found a pretty sizable turtle in a mud pit and busied themselves whacking its shell with sticks. The teachers looked on approvingly from underneath a tree and Rabecca’s baby, tied snugly to her back, gagged on some leaves that were hanging tantalizingly close to his mouth.
Rabecca asked me if I remembered the “boy that used to chase you.” I said yes and that I heard he was a different person now. Rabecca confirmed so I asked what brought about the change. She said that he no longer smokes “the chomba.” I told her I was sort of hoping to run into him, but she assured me that I would not see him. I don’t know why I would want to, given all of the aggravation he caused me, but I am curious to see him with normal sized pupils and a purpose in life besides irritating me. Despite assurances from Mary and Rabecca, I kept expecting him to materialize in between the garden rows or levitate from a mud puddle.
By the time we got all the children back the way we came, and climbing up took a lot more time than rolling down, both the children and the teachers were ready to call it a day. I said goodbye and thank you and bleep blip blop to the children. Before I left, I pointed to Ugly and asked Mary to spell his name. A-R-G-L-E-Y. Wello done on my comprehension skills. Tala!
Sadly, Rabecca’s five-year-old son, Lightman had passed away a few weeks after I left last year. Such is long distance communication from rural Malawi to, well, anywhere, that I hadn’t heard about it until I asked her that day where he was. Lightman was a wild little boy. He would spend all morning driving me crazy running around the room and knocking down the two-year-olds. Then he would climb into my lap, give me these strangling hugs and coo “sabizi, sabizi,” which means teacher. Although young children die all the time here, it was still shocking to hear. The fact that he had been dead for so long made the news even more strange and awful because it somehow made my grief seem inappropriate and out of place. I anxiously named all of the other children I remembered, and asked if they were ok. Rabecca would giggle and say, “ah, he is alright” or “she is alright.”
After visiting Rabecca, I went to other teacher, Mary’s house. She knew through the bush telegraph that I was on my way, so she was waiting for me with her daughter Esther. Last time I saw Esther, she was a floppy newborn, and now she is this big, gorgeous, banana- eating one year old. Mary’s husband had passed away since I was last here, and it has been a huge loss to the community, and of course to Mary and her six children. Frank passed away in May, and I did hear about it before I got to Malawi, so Mary and I were both spared the awkwardness of me asking where he was. I fed Esther bananas and Mary told me about all of the others in the community who had passed away that year, and others who are sick. Even for a rural village in a poor country with little access to nutrition and health care the number of deaths seemed unusually high, and the whole village seems to be collectively grieving. At the same time there is little talk about HIV/AIDS, which is likely a huge factor in all of this. People talk about the disease in abstract terms, but no one openly says they are infected, which can only exacerbate the spread and limit the quality of life for those living with the disease.
One good piece of news did come out of my visit with Mary; she promised to reopen the school for a day later that week so I could see the children. Actually, she gave me two good pieces of news. When I was at the school earlier that day I was keeping an eye out for Sam, my very dedicated, stoned and silent stalker who used to follow me everywhere last year. I asked Mary what he was up to these days, and she told me I wouldn’t even recognize him if I saw him now. When I asked why, she said, “Now he bathes.” When I asked if he would try to find and/or follow me, she assured me not.
Two days later I went to the school and saw some of my old students. Many were visiting family out of town and others live in further villages and didn’t get the message, but Rabecca and Mary organized quite a crowd. About half the children I didn’t recognize, and they were the scabbiest, snottiest group of kids I’ve ever seen. I imagined Rabecca running all over the village collecting abandoned children and dragging them to school to make me happy. (It worked).
I was happy to hear that some of the oldest children whose parents kept sending them to nursery school for the free meals are finally in primary school. It was also good to see that some of the children have grown considerably since last year and seem to be happy and healthy and learning. One girl, who was named Diana last year is now called Joyce and she is still beating up all the other children. Laban who used to be this sticky, little, spherical child sucking on bits of cellophane stretched out a little and came to school chewing on a nail. Another boy, Charles, (who for ages I thought was named “Chalo”) now brings his 18-month-old brother to school with him. The last time I saw this baby, Rabecca was wrestling him out of the sling on his mother’s back while his mother was wrestling her husband’s girlfriend (who says small town life is dull?). Charles drags his brother around the school and takes swigs out of his bottle when he thinks no one is looking. When I asked Charles his brother’s name he said, “Ugly.”
The teachers ran a little lesson complete with the calendar chant, days of the week chant, counting numbers chant, alphabet chant and the let us pray chant. These kids are chanting machines. Then they did some colors and shape activities that look a little something like this:
Teacher: Rhoda, come point to the color red.
(Rhoda points to green)
Teacher: Is that right?
Entire Class: NOOOOOOOOO!
Teacher: Sit down! [you incorrect, delinquent child!]
Teacher: Maria, come point to the color red
(Maria points to red)
Teacher: Clap hands for Maria
Entire Class: Wello done! wello done! Shoowa! Bleep blip blop! Tala!
(Well done! Well done! Sure! Keep it up! Tala! There isn’t really a direct translation for “tala,” but it means something like, take the good thing you just did and put it in your pocket.)
Then the teachers looked at me and said, “teach us something,” which was definitely not something I had prepared to do. Perhaps sensing my panic, the children and teachers started shouting out requests of (English) games and songs I used to do with them. The unanimous class favorite is the get up and dance song, which involves me singing for each child to dance one at a time. But when there are thirty-something kids in the class, I am panting and hoarse by 17th verse, and the end of the song is nowhere in sight. They all do the same dance move where they put their hands on their waist and wiggle their hips in the fiercest possible manner. When I got to Charles’ brother, I asked Rabecca his name just to be sure. She said, “Ugly.” I asked her to repeat it, and she said, “UG-LEE.” But I couldn’t bring myself to sing “Get up and dance, Ugly” so I sang, “get up and dance, hmmhmm.”
After get up and dance and a few more songs, Mary and Rabecca and the children took me to their new garden which involved a perilous walk during which all but the most coordinated children slid or rolled down a hill into a ditch. The children found a pretty sizable turtle in a mud pit and busied themselves whacking its shell with sticks. The teachers looked on approvingly from underneath a tree and Rabecca’s baby, tied snugly to her back, gagged on some leaves that were hanging tantalizingly close to his mouth.
Rabecca asked me if I remembered the “boy that used to chase you.” I said yes and that I heard he was a different person now. Rabecca confirmed so I asked what brought about the change. She said that he no longer smokes “the chomba.” I told her I was sort of hoping to run into him, but she assured me that I would not see him. I don’t know why I would want to, given all of the aggravation he caused me, but I am curious to see him with normal sized pupils and a purpose in life besides irritating me. Despite assurances from Mary and Rabecca, I kept expecting him to materialize in between the garden rows or levitate from a mud puddle.
By the time we got all the children back the way we came, and climbing up took a lot more time than rolling down, both the children and the teachers were ready to call it a day. I said goodbye and thank you and bleep blip blop to the children. Before I left, I pointed to Ugly and asked Mary to spell his name. A-R-G-L-E-Y. Wello done on my comprehension skills. Tala!
1 comment:
Cute. That classroom looks really empty. Is that typical? I thought I'd go back to the beginning and read the ones that I'd missed.
HP
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