We've arrived at the end of another week, and (almost) the end of my data collection in the field. One more day, Monday, with a jam-packed slate of three (!) schools and we can call this part of the trip a wrap. Seems strange actually to think about that and it will be yet another transition to go back to Blantyre and back to office work. Being in the field each day is grueling, no doubt, but its thrilling as well, and it will be hard for anything on the rest of this trip to match. Of course, now that I have said that I will inevitably run into a wild gang of street monkeys and rue the day I ever wrote that sentence.
So, so, so much to share and I am guaranteed to screw some of it up/miss some important details. In order to get the academic, research angle of the work I am doing, you will have to read the final report (don't all ask for it at once, now), so instead, here is the general order of events experienced at each of the 18 schools over a nine day period.
Part I: The Arrival
As soon as we pull into a school, it is as if we set off a tiny explosive in the courtyard. The schools, as you may have seen in the pictures, largely consist of 3-5, one-story buildings, with a central courtyard/parking lot/lunch"room"/recreation area. As we pull in, students of all ages (we have only been visiting the free primary schools, which typically consist of standards/grades 1-6) peer out the windows or holes in the sides of the buildings and run out of the classroom to see the vehicle that has suddenly rumbled on to their campus. Once parked, and my team readied, we step out into what can only be described as the world's littlest big mob. Students excitedly yell "Muzungu!" (Chichewa for 'white person') and run full speed towards us, stopping just short of the two (sometimes three) of us and stare intently, not sure whether to be excited, confused, or scared. According to Julius, who has witnessed this now exactly 18 of 18 times, it is a healthy mixture of all three. "For some," he told me once as we drove away from a school, "it is their first time to ever see a vehicle up close, and for most, the first time they have seen a person who looks like you. Some are excited, but many are frightened because they aren't sure why you are here, and they are afraid you are there to get them in trouble."
One of the funniest instances of such excitement/unsure attitudes towards me was at a very small school called Mchenga. Our typical protocol is to meet the Headteacher (Principal), exchange pleasantries, tell him the focus of my research and what standards/lessons I wished to observe that day, and wait in the office while he readies the teachers for three newcomers to enter their class. I often take this time to reassure the Headteacher that we are only there to observe, not to evaluate, and to tell the teacher we will be very good, quiet students in the back of the classroom. Judging by the nervousness displayed by many of the teachers we watch, I am fairly confident this message gets lost in translation. Nonetheless, that is the general order of events, and the time spent in the Headteacher's office as he conveys the message is usually spent looking around and taking note of important details such as enrollment, staff numbers, etc. On this particular day however, students became the focus of our time-killing observations as the doorway to the Headteacher's office was filled with about 30 sets of eyes all peering intently at the strange person visiting their school.
"Uli Bwanji!" (How are you?) my co-researcher Jeanette asks the children. "Tiri bwino" (We are fine), the children respond, in unison, not taking their eyes off of me. Jeanette laughs, and then asks a question in Chichewa with a little girl up front, who, wide-eyed, excitedly responds. Jeanette guffaws loudly. "What did you just say?" I asked. "It's not what I said," she responded, still laughing, "it was what SHE said." "Well, what did she say then?" Jeanette's laugh slowed a bit, but didn't quite cease as she explained. "I asked her what she was going to tell her parents when she went home and she said, 'That I saw a Muzungu....and that they are hairy!!"
Hard to say she was wrong with that assessment.
Part II: The Waiting Games
Now, what happens next tends to vary with the school. Sometimes, they are extremely prepared for us, and the Headteacher leads us right into the classroom with no delays. Those are the good days. Unfortunately, they are also not the norm. In most cases, we encounter a lot of down time spent in one of three places: the car, the Headteachers office, or the courtyard. At the first school of the day, this period of waiting always causes a bit of anxiety; our timetable is tight and if we take too long at school #1, we may have difficulty seeing the classes I want us to see at school #2. As a result, I can be a bit tightly wound at the beginning of each day, and willing to see almost any Standard fitting within my schema as long as they are prepared and ready to go. By the time we get to the second school however, and knowing the only thing left to consume my day is food, bad TV, and fantasy football 'research', I am much more laid back and willing to accept the given time delays as they come. Thus, my time in the morning during this part of the research is spent almost exclusively in the Headteacher's office, gently applying pressure, and at the second visit, I am more apt to stand in the courtyard and play with the children.
What we "play" tends to depend on their level of English and my tenuous grasp of Chichewa. If they are Standard four or above, they typically have enough English to converse with me (if brave enough...there is always one), and our conversations typically stay right around the comfortable safety net of "what is your name","what grade are you in" and the ever-important question asked of me: "where are you from?" For those unable to talk in English yet, we forego any real chance of me talking in Chichewa (I can say 'how are you', 'I am fine', 'thank you' and 'I will have a beer'...three of these work in a school setting) and instead we create some sort of "game". These have included:
Fruit Football Rules: Stand in a circle around tallest player (ie. me). Find a piece of fruit on the ground. Kick it back and forth until it gets past somebody for a goal. As more players gather, the circle grows larger, and more fruits get added. Number of players: 40-100. Number of fruit footballs: Seemingly endless
ET Touch Rules: Players extend forefingers slowly until making contact with the tips of their fingers. One person runs away giggling, screaming, or jumping up and down. Not sure how a winner is decided.
Window Roll Down Rules: Players gather around a vehicle. Player one demonstrates how the window of a car is manually rolled down and encourages other players to try to do the same. Other players stay a safe distance away and slowly encourage someone else to play. Longest time spent rolling down a window? Approximately 1.5 seconds.
Stick Toss Rules: Players toss sticks.
Funny Face: Player one makes a funny face, prompting giggles, laughs, and shouts and encourages others to make faces back. Similar to ET Touch, once a funny face has been returned, the player is to run away and hide behind a friend. Also similar to ET Touch, it is unclear if there is a winner.
Needless to say, these games can be quite entertaining and make the time pass quickly and enjoyably. Language is overrated.
Part III: The Classroom
Finally we enter the classroom, and are often greeted by the students standing and, in English, saying the following in unison:
Them: "Hello sir! Welcome sir. How are you today?"
Me: "I am well! How are you?"
Them: "We are fine sir. Thank you sir."
Me: "Thank you. You may be seated."
Them: "We will sit sir. Thank you sir."
At this point they all sit back down and follow us with their eyes as we make our way to the chairs that have been arranged in the back for us. As we take our seats, I always find it just a bit uncomfortable to sit in chairs while in the classroom though, most notably because of the 18 classrooms we visited, 16 of them had students sitting on the floor. This was due to a combination of the large class sizes which would call for a prohibitive amount of desks and the scarcity of resources to afford the desks. So to say I feel a bit strange sitting up high while they sit on the floor is an understatement, but at the same time, the Headteacher and teacher would absolutely not allow me to sit on the floor, so the chair it is.
The lessons, on a whole, have been fantastic. As this is a study of reading and literacy practices, all 18 lessons which were observed for the purpose of data collection were Chichewa lessons, but occasionally, if we were either early or late, we would be able to see a lesson in another subject. You will be able to read all about the Chichewa lessons in the final report (Wow, so many of you want it! Fantastic!) so I won't bore you with those details, other than to say they have been remarkably child centered, and showcasing excellent language pedagogy. Very impressive.
My favorite moment in any classroom over the last two weeks has to be at Namakwena. The Headteacher, who taught multiple standards throughout the day, was extremely bright and experienced, and not surprisingly, his students were among the best we saw in all 18 schools. I am sure he would be embarrassed by the story I am about to tell, but I assure you, as I would him, that while I was very impressed with all his students, and the amount of knowledge and competency they showed, a student answering something correctly a funny story does not make. This however...I am still laughing.
It was science lesson (!) and the students were talking about water. Again, since the lessons are mostly in Chichewa, I was forced to lean over to my data collector to get what was going on, apart from the easily recognizable charts or diagrams. The following is the transcript of a moment in this class, loosely translated from Chichewa:
Teacher: Who can tell me what symbols make up water?
Student 1: H!
Teacher: Very good! Now everyone say it.
All students: H!!
Teacher: Very good. Now what other letter is in water?
Student 2: O!
Teacher: That is correct! O. Everyone?
All: O!!
Teacher: Very nice. Now, from last week's lesson, what goes in between those two?
Student 3: 2!
Teacher: Excellent! Everyone!
All: 2!!!!
Teacher: Ok now I need one student to come to the front and give us everything together that makes up water.
*All students raise hands excitedly, most clicking their fingers, yelling "sir! sir!"*
Teacher: [Points to student]
Student 4: [Stands silently at front of the class]
Teacher: [Says students name] What is the formula for water?
Student 4: [Stands silently at front of the class]
Teacher: [Says name again] Do you know it?
Student 4: [Deep breath] H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O!
Teacher: [Looks at us nervously] What? What was that?
Student 4: [Proudly] It was H to O!!
[Scene]
You just CANNOT make this kind of stuff up. Absolutely priceless.
Part IV: Leaving
The most bittersweet moment of any visit is leaving the school. On one hand, it is always a good feeling to drive away, knowing that more data was collected, you are one step closer to finishing the job, and one step away from potential pratfalls that have somehow, luckily, been avoided. On the other hand, every time I leave I feel as though I didn't do enough to help. It's a difficult position to be in. I have nothing tangible to give to these schools, and often, I feel as though all I did was take. Allowing me to witness Malawian teaching, observe and record specific details of the lesson, watch students processing words and sentences for the first time is equally fulfilling and difficult, simply because I want to be able to assist them more than I am. Oftentimes, I find myself sitting in the passenger seat of the car as we pull away drifting, wondering all things existential, including why I am there, what my purpose is, and realizing that I may very well never see any of those children again.
But, and I have to remain confident in this, the research we are collecting, and the work we are attempting to do, does impact the lives of the same children who "beat me" at ET Touch and set the record for Window Roll Down. What I/we/Save the Children is attempting to do is monitor, evaluate, and ultimately assess teaching practices that could have enormous benefit to these children, or their children's children, or even further down the line. I am not saying this to be boastful, but rather to express on here the same thing I have to tell myself every time we leave a school and every time I wonder why I am here, and every time a giant spider crawls across my wall, and every time I swallow another malaria pill. It's all for a purpose, and maybe it's a bit more tangible than even I realize.
Now go find a piece of fruit and practice your kicking skills.
Cheers.
