Saturday, March 30, 2013

The Etiquette of Abuse

I teach adults in the evening, focusing on conversation rather than grammar. My students are farmers, a nurse's aide, a driver, the pastor, a tailor, and a group
Teacher Martha with Shafi Wyatt Abdallah, and some visitors.
of secondary school students. So we sit in the Standard 1 classroom on tiny chairs and talk to each other. Usually someone has a question about two similar words. Today David  asked me about beating vs striking, which led to a lively and illuminating discussion re the difference between being beaten (kupiga) and getting sticks (kuchapa ).

Apparently, being struck just once (even lightly) constitutes a beating, which explains the high drama when one kid accidentally bumps into another. You should see it, they throw up their arm to cover their eyes and wail like their nails are being pulled out, all the while screaming "He is beating me". Bunch of drama queens. I've gotten so tired of it I usually ask "Unakufa"? (Are you dying?) They say no and I say "Helafu, sijali" (Then I don't care). Then they stop. Just like that. Like turning off a faucet.

One mtu mzima cannot cane another mtu mzima (adult), but you can beat him with your fists. Kids get caned, and for maximum effect they are required procure their own stick. But you can't use a big stick, just a thin, bendy one. You don't want to break anything, just inflict stinging, enduring pain, which, according to all the adults in the village, helps the kids to learn.

You cannot say njoo (come) to an adult, it's considered rude and demanding. But you can njoo a kid all you want. So I learn the finer points of village life, which you miss on your average commercial safari.

Free time at the blackboard.
The carpenter guys next to the hospital have been teaching me local greetings. Poa means cool, like the old beatniks, the proper greeting for those who smoke, purchase and deal lots of ganja. I have been advised not to use it, lest I tarnish my reputation. Obviously, I haven't revealed to them the details of my exquisitely misspent youth. I should have guessed though, about mzuka, they chuckle every time I say it. Makes me wonder what else they've taught me.

Shwali is another new word from the carpenters, so I checked with the Pastor who said it's ok because it means calm and it's in the Bible. As in Jesus calmed the waters.
Tiny little pencil nubs from the bottom of my pencil can...
which I gave to the kids as zawadi (gifts)..
Pastor says as long as it's in the Bible I can say it. That's also where they get the ok to cane every kid in class if they don't pay attention. So I need to check whatever these carpenters teach me before I walk up to the Pastor and tell him I have six nipples and can he help me score some weed. It doesn't matter where you go, there's always someone willing to take advantage of the new kid.



I went up to Mbeya for a few days to visit friends, and check up on the kids in school. Martha and Chris are at Shukrani International Secretarial College and doing very well. They have one more year, and should be able to get good jobs. Ahadi, Rosie and Violet are at VETA, a vocational school. Ahadi is studying fitter mechanics, and Rosie and Violet are working toward a certificate in food preparation. They have two more years to go, and are passing.

Jenny is all excited because she has 12
pencils. She also has small hands.
I have learned to focus my efforts (and money) on projects I feel will succeed. I know that probably sounds stupid, why would a person do anything else? But the schools here, from primary to secondary, are bad. Unbelievably bad. Many villages have no passes in primary or secondary school. I've already talked about why this happens in other letters, will refrain from jumping on the old soapbox yet again. But please think about where your money goes. Giving funds to put kids in schools, kids who will not pass, doesn't accomplish much. Obviously they need to be in school, but wouldn't it be better to send money to people who are actively working toward improving existing schools? There aren't many of these people, but I do know some of them. We are some of them.

The government of Tanzania has decreed that all villages must have a preschool. It is now a law. Unfortunately that law does not provide a salary for said teacher. Parents must foot the bill. Teachers may charge 1,500 to 3,000 tsh/month, about a dollar or two, and they don't get it. And as there can be up to 150 kids in a class, it's impossible to teach anyway.

Dani and Mbuli making words with Scrabble tiles.
A passing grade in Tanzania is 40%, so maybe you can understand my horror when kids don't pass. By the way, this is the standard for secondary school as well. Our little school holds to the western standard, and our passing grade is 70%. I was on the website which gives the test results for the government school Form 4 kids, countrywide. I looked through over 150 pages of names and grades and found ONE kid who passed with decent grades. Everyone else had Ds and Fs. I'm not kidding, not exaggerating, not skewing information. This is what I saw.

The words Dani and Mbuli made.
Kids in private schools do better. Most have a decent  pass rate, but then, most people can't afford private school. In 2003, countrywide, the government run secondary schools had a 100% fail rate. Maybe it's time to force these NGOs to work toward school systems that will produce kids who can pass.

It's not the kids. They're as bright as any other kids, but the system is a failure. Anyone with any money sends his kids to boarding school, outside the country if possible. Just a small belabor, sorry,  can't seem to help myself.

Our sink. One day we will have a proper sink. Right now,
I just try not to touch it too much.
Last week my friend told me that I need to be careful about what I write, that I could get in trouble for criticizing the systems of the country in which I live as a guest. In the first place, I'm not widely read. In the second place, I stand by what I write, and the statistics will show I'm not lying. There was an article in the paper stating that of the six countries of East Africa, the schools in Tanzania are at the bottom. I can believe it, because, try as I might, I can't imagine anything worse than this outside of a refugee camp
or a country at war.

L