It's been one of those months that has flown by while lasting forever. The more time we spent at the school, the harder it all got to handle. Abraham was hardly there-nobody seems to ever know where he is. The teachers spend their time meandering around, delegating students to take turns leading the 100th recitation of counting from one to ten, or the worst--physically and verbally abusing the children.
Each teacher has a small yet sturdy stick that is used to cane hands and shins more often than as a pointer at the blackboard. They twist the kids' ears, pinch their backs, and slap their heads. Our favorite and only relatively qualified teacher, Mr. Godfrey, even discussed the definition of abuse in his social studies lesson. Apparently it's completely fine if its purpose is discipline. It shows that the adult cares about the child's knowledge and practice of good manners. One teacher of the baby class hit a four year old girl so hard that the baby fell to the ground. This same teacher laughingly called a toddler stupid when he struggled to catch a soccer ball much too large for his tiny arms. Another teacher of P3 smiled and started to laugh as she chased a crying girl, whipping the girl's shins as Katy and I unsuccessfully racked our brains for any possible reasoning behind the punishment. We had noticed this use of corporal punishment before, and a little research revealed a nationwide ban of its use back in 2006. However, only one school adheres to it, and cases of hospitalization and even death due to corporal punishment in schools flooded the search results. Many of those schools are in or close to Mbale, and one death was reported just two weeks prior. After Katy and I witnessed the P3 teacher visibly gaining pleasure from her monstrous act, we got up and headed home without a word.
We decided that we would not remain at this school for another day unless Abraham and the staff were willing to put an end to the abuse. Fundraising for such an institution was in no way acceptable in our consciouses. Understanding the use of corporal punishment stemming from their culture and simple lack of knowledge of any alternative strategies, we got to work preparing our case. To our surprise, Abraham agreed to allowing us to help implement change without hesitation. On Monday we were going to deliver our presentation at the weekly staff meeting.
Meanwhile, desperation for some peace and quiet in nature took over. We ended up discovering the backyard of the Mt. Elgon Hotel on the other side of town. Nobody shouting "Muzungu!", no cars or boda bodas threatening to run us over, a scenery of dust and trash replaced with thick green grass and trees, and for the first time since arriving in Mbale, QUIET. Our blankets were laid under a beautiful tree, a packed picnic of bananas and peanut butter and two wine spritzers were set out, and our bodies melted into the serenity. We also met Callie, a fellow American volunteer on her third trip to Uganda. She told us that every time she comes here, she doesn't think she'll make it through the first month. After that, she can't fathom leaving. I dubbed her my omen of hope as I prayed for this to be the case for me as well.
Sunday brought us another day-long adventure. Madame Sulaina, Taata Kids' headmistress, took us to her church. The building is much smaller and more traditional than Abraham's warehouse church. The lead pastor is an older woman with a face perfectly resembling Suga Mama on Disney's Proud Family cartoon. You should probably take a minute to Google image her, it'll enhance this story.
Moving on, this lead pastor's ending topic was the issue of productivity, or lack thereof, in Uganda. She detailed her point with a scenario from her visit to Switzerland. She missed her train, so she decided to wait for another coming in five minutes and on the same side of the station instead of taking another coming in two minutes but on the other side of the platform. Locals questioned her decision, pleading for an explanation to validate her waiting five minutes when she could just wait two. "What difference do three extra minutes make??" she said with a throw of her hands. "In Uganda, you can wait three extra DAYS for your train!" But their reaction, she continued to explain, demonstrates the importance of time in other cultures. It isn't that Ugandans lack money or resources, it's that they lack an appreciation of time. Things get done so much faster in other cultures simply because those people embrace time being of the essence. Ugandans need to adopt this same perspective on time and how they spend it. This whole spiel very much surprised me as a chosen church sermon. First world cultures are often stressing the importance of slowing down, and here the stress is on speeding up. Still, I liked what Suga Mama was saying. Aaaamen, sista!
"We shall take a shortcut back. We must cross a small bridge and there aren't any ropes to hold. S'it okay?" Sulaina asked us. Katy and I have crossed some logs in our day, we got this. Through corn fields and around a small river, this shortcut reminded me of corn mazes around Halloween time back home. How ridiculous such a concept would seem to these people, I mused. We reached the bridge. It was three small logs laid parallel and about ten feet above a small river. After being warned that some spots are loose and shakey, Sulaina grabbed my camera to document what I'm sure she anticipated to be a hilarious spectacle. She's right, I halted at one spot in the middle where there didn't seem to be any sturdy placement for either feet to continue onward. I considered crawling the rest of the way, but ended up opting for a semi hopscotch maneuver as I lunged for a tree branch near the end. Cake. The women that had gathered around all cheered for me and Katy. Anything we do is impressive here. I'm sure if I were to do a cartwheel they'd lose it.
*I did do one around our neighbor kids; They cheered for me like I had just been named President.
Our presentation to the staff was a slight success. We made packets for everyone that outlined points from the ban and national Constitution in favor of stopping the abuse, as well as the detriments to the children, classrooms, and school success if the abuse were to continue, the improvements if the staff were to adopt alternative methods, and some new methods to try. Their first task, if they accepted, was to create a list of classroom norms, or rules, created mostly by the students themselves. This way the children have authority in deciding how their environment will be run, and coinciding motivation to follow rules which THEY agreed upon. Katy and I would then create these lists on plywood posters for them to display in their rooms at all times. It's little, but if done well, will begin drastic transformation toward a much safer, healthier, and happier school environment. The teachers accepted, or rather, Abraham accepted for them. It was very difficult to reexplain to the teachers the next day that these rules needed to be STUDENT-made, but I am so happy to say that the lists were overall a success and the posters are displayed every day. Very small progress, but progress nonetheless. Like the locals here always say, "Slowly, slowly".
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