Final Days

Yesterday I went to Deme for the last time with Jon, Andrew, and Nick. All the Deme teachers, who are infamous in our Volunteer house for their laziness and disinterest in actually teaching, seemed to be in a day long "meeting," that involved napping outside, so most of the classrooms were full of teacher-less students. Nick and I were assigned P4 (roughly equivalent to fourth grade).

I haven't done much formal teaching in the past (just a little tutoring), so I was excited to get my feet wet. I quickly learned that it's extremely difficult to teach almost every subject (possibly excluding math), without adequate materials. The small classroom, that held nine students, had three very old chalkboards, a box of chalk that never seemed to make any visible marks on the boards, two posters (one that explained the roles of the Executive, Judicial, and Legislative branches, and one that simply listed skin diseases: leprosy, scabies, fungus, eczema, chicken pox), and a pile of workbooks. A few of the students had pens, and one had a pencil. There was no paper, no crayons, no markers, no reading books.

The kids all wanted to start the day with "Creative Arts," so we all took out the Creative Arts workbooks, and Nick and I started going through them. Crocheting lessons, pottery lessons, crayon resist lessons. Nothing we could do without the materials. Finally Nick ripped out a bunch of pages from his journal, handed out one to each kid, and we all drew our favorite animals, taking turns with the pens. (After I drew an example elephant on the board, everyone just drew elephants). Then we tried to do math. The math workbooks contained such exciting lessons as: "Follow the pattern- 434, 433, 432, 431, ..." and "Count in multiples of ten from 0 to 80." I quickly abandoned the workbooks (for their sake and my own), and tried to teach fractions by drawing banku and mango on the board and "cutting" it into different numbered slices. That got us a little further, but the language barrier definitely created some problems (I'm still not sure they understand that 1/4 is bigger than 1/8, even though 8 is bigger than 4).

We ended the day with reading, which they do out of their science workbooks. The page they were on was titled "skin diseases" (the poster suddenly made sense), and each paragraph was about a different type of skin disease they could get. Everyone took out their books except one boy. I asked him where his was and he said he didn't have it, so I gave him mine to use for the lesson. The rest of the class immediately jumped up in dissent, shouting "No! No! Do not give him book. He can't read!" It's no wonder the poor kid can't read. He's never given a book! Not sure how they ever expected him to learn. Of course I gave him mine anyway and told him just to try following along while the other kids took turns reading about peeling skin infections and boils and fungi (I kid you not, I had to spend five minutes listening to a little ten year old try to sound out "anti-fungal cream." It was simultaneously hilarious and incredibly frustrating. They have absolutely no comprehension of what they're reading). When it got to his turn, I asked the boy if he wanted to give it a try, and he surprised me with an enthusiastic "yes!" It took him ten times longer than the rest of the students (and he only got through the sentences by sounding out the few letters he knew, and his friend whispering the rest of the words to him), but he clearly wanted to know how to read. I'm sad to think about how he will get lost in the system. Students simply repeat grades until they pass out and move on, but each grade teaches essentially the same things, and it's incredibly easy to slip through the cracks and move on before you're ready (the first three questions of the final exam, which we saw one of the teachers preparing, were: "1. Design a bumper sticker that says 'God is great,' "  "2. Which of the following did God create?" and "3. How many times a day do you pray?"  If they've had these exams before, I'm sure they're not exactly motivated to learn about government systems and grammar rules). There also isn't an expectation of success in school, and no motivation to study or do well. Whether the teachers are jaded from years of frustration with the system, or simply don't care much about teaching (it's sort of a status symbol to be a teacher, and the pay is comparatively very good), they are not doing a good job of inspiring their students or setting any example of where a good education can get you. Although that leads to the next question of what CAN a good education really get you here, and is it simply better to live the life of their parents who spend their days on the farms, but (at least from what I've seen in the past month), seem relatively happy (especially compared to the stressed-out, tax-paying, tv-buying American). But that's a conversation for another day.

Ultimately, I was really glad to get a little experience teaching, and despite the many frustrations of the day, really enjoyed working with the kids. With a little patience and creativity, learning can go on anywhere, even a paperless, teacherless classroom.

Today is my last full day here, so I'm spending most of it saying the important goodbyes. I'll really miss everyone I worked with from Bankas' clinic, most noteworthy Livingston, Kindom, Salome, and Innocent. Not to mention our artist friend (Yao), our contact in Deme (Charles), the seamstress next door (Praise), the shop lady down the street who supplied us with endless amounts of bread, coke, and biscuits (Fida), and of course, all the other volunteers at Ghana Act. Thirty days came and went, and somehow in that short time, I discovered and carved out a home here. I will miss it greatly.

Until next time,

Anna

More Extreme Sports

This weekend we took a day trip to Aburi, a small city near Accra that houses a beautiful botanical garden and, right next door, a bike renting company. After a short stroll through the gardens (where we found a woman selling ice cream!), we all rented bikes and went on a short but strenuous ride through corn fields, villages, highways, and dirt paths. It took us a while to get started because of faulty breaks and chains and a shortage of helmets, but once we got going we flew down the roads. It was by far the most scary (and thrilling) mountain biking I've ever done. For the most part, the roads were very narrow and rocky, and often times strewn with  mountains of trash that you had to swerve around or fight your way through. Avoiding people and cars was also a challenge. At one point the trail was so steep and uneven we had to walk our bikes down and then leave them to walk the rest of the trail, which ended in a gorgeous waterfall. A few of the more fearless volunteers climbed up the waterfall via a knotted rope, and the rest of us went exploring at the bottom. After our ride back (which was infinitely more difficult seeing as we had to bike up everything we had coasted down before), we were greeted at the rental place with platters of fresh pineapple, which we devoured quickly.

I unfortunately spent the next day dealing with a rash that I woke up with that covered most of my legs and stomach, and by midday had traveled to my arms, face, feet, and hands. I battled the itch with some benadryl, which made me super sleepy. But Sunday is usually a chill day anyway, so I sat in the kitchen and learned Bridge with Jon, Andrew, and John, and played for about four or five hours (Hearts may have found a new replacement).

That night a drum/dance group came to the house and put on an interactive show for us. I'm not sure if it was intended to be interactive, but after the first ten minutes of watching them drum and dance, we couldn't stay put, and about thirty of us crammed into our common room and danced in circles, waving the kerchiefs they handed out and attempting to learn their dances. Something I learned too late is that Ghanaian songs last much, much longer than American ones. We must have been dancing to the same song for at least twenty or thirty minutes. And the music is largely drum based, although there was one incredible trumpet player there, and everyone was shout-singing the words, which were incomprehensible but full of energy.

As Thursday draws nearer, it's harder and harder to focus on what's going on. All I can think about is home! But hopefully the next few days will be full (possibly teaching in Deme tomorrow, and going to the clinic at McCollins on wednesday), so they will fly by. In the mean time, Mia do go!