Universal Primary Education

Yesterday I got extremely miffed with the situation at the school. The headmistress had organized a gathering with a bunch of old guys-- the village chief, the head of the PTA, the head of the local district, and some other official-type guy-- so they could meet the volunteers who have been at the school recently and also conduct some other school business. We were told that the meeting was going to be with lunch, and it would start at noon and we would be invited in at about 1 to have lunch and converse with the officials. The other volunteer- an older British gentleman who is an engineer who has been helping put shutters and doors on the school building- and I were in place at 1, ready to be invited in. Instead, the teachers brought food into the staff room where we were waiting. The headmistress said, "Oh, we are not ready, we have not started the meeting yet... we are just waiting for these people... but you people like to eat on time, so you will eat your lunch now." As we munched on our goat, I started to get nervous. I teach at 2:10 pm every day with another teacher, and though much in Uganda is patently unreliable, this guy can be counted on like clockwork. And, it's really important to me to keep my word... so if I'm expected to teach and I've planned a lesson, I intend to deliver it.

At 1:30, David, the British guy, and I decided to pop our heads in to see if they were ready for us. The headmistress had set up two folding chairs facing a row of about 10 people behind a table. We were escorted to the chairs. It was supposed to be a 'guest of honor' thing, but it felt like an interrogation situation. The headmistress launched in with the welcoming, and told the officials in Lusoga what we had been doing. She said, "Shannah, she is so devoted... she is always here, she comes on Saturdays, she always thinks of her students...." The officials then had a chance to speak, and the ones that could speak English said, "We are very grateful. Very happy. God bless you abundantly." And we nodded, and said thank you, it is our pleasure, etc. This went back and forth for maybe 5 rounds. Us, them, us, them, etc. Same exact things being said. Finally I told the Headmistress that I would like to ask a question if that was okay. She said it was, and so I asked the officials simply, "What is your goal for the school?" They went on and on in Lusoga about having high academic expectations, about having healthy children who are self-reliant, etc. Okay. Sounds fine.

Then, at about 1:50, heaping plates of food were brought in and set up in front of the officials, and then a plate was brought in for each of the teachers. Now, besides me, there are 14 teachers at the school. So, there were in fact, 14 plates brought in. At about 1:59, 13 teachers were munching happily on their food. The child who is in charge of the bell rang the bell at 2:00 to signal that lunch was over. The yells of the schoolyard died down as one thousand children shuffled into their classrooms for the afternoon lessons. I looked around. No one made any move to get up. I shifted uncomfortably. The one teacher who was not there was my co-teacher, Mister James. Finally, at about 2:05, I said to the Headmistress, "Madam, I am so sorry, but I have planned the lesson for P5. I must go and teach now. Gentlemen, I am so grateful that you have had me as a guest here. Thank you so much." Genuflecting awkwardly, I left the room and bolted to my class.

The class went on without a hitch (well, trying to conduct a lesson in a cavernous room with a tin roof in the middle of a rainstorm would qualify as a hitch elsewhere, but not here). As my students were writing, I heard screams from both sides of our class. Mister James watched our class while I ran to my other class, P6. They were bouncing a soccer ball off the wall and yelling at the top of their lungs. It was 2:30, and they had no teacher. "P6! Sit down!" I yelled, and they meekly took their benches. I ran to the staff room and brought back baskets of readers for them. Once they had something to do, they were happily engaged. Since they never ever get to read books unless they come to my after school or Saturday sessions when I can disregard the B.S. Ugandan English curriculum that teaches only grammar, they were actually really happy. I headed back to my class, only to be disturbed by an even higher pitched round of yelling from the room on the other side. I bounded down to that class, the little guys in P4, and saw that, despite the fact that it was 2:55, they, too had no teacher. I came up with a makeshift solution for them too. Then I realized it might make sense to check every class. Every. Class. Had. No. Teacher. I ran back and forth from room to room in the rain, carrying books and writing assignments on blackboards. Essentially, one-thousand rural African students with nothing but potential sat for an hour and a half unsupervised and uneducated even though they were at school. Why? Because the teachers were having lunch with the officials at a ceremony conducted in honor of the volunteers.

After school, I encountered the Headmistress. "Ah, Shannah! We were so sorry to have you miss this last part... the teachers made speeches... but, I know, you were teaching." The idea of 13 teachers making speeches to an awkward Brit who wanted nothing more than to be left alone to work on his shutters would have made me laugh if I hadn't been so pissed. "Yes, madam. I am sorry to have missed it," I said through gritted teeth.

In Uganda, we have what is called Universal Primary Education. It is actually a relatively novel concept here, and it refers to the fact that Primary Education should be free for everyone. But what I am finding interesting is how universal it really is. It seems that across the world we put adults before kids. We talk about goals for students and then undermine them at every turn. We just don't show up for the kids. Yesterday was a deja vu experience of the worst kind for me.

And then, I think of Mister James. When I met him in the class having just left the officials, I asked him if he had taken his lunch. He said, "Yes, I have taken it. We are teaching now." Mister James is not the world's best teacher. He may, in fact, be in the bottom 1%. I'll spare you the details of his methods, but let's just say that one day I counted, and of our 90 students, 2 were listening to him as he reviewed the material the same way he has for 23 years. Moreover, his English makes me cringe. Often, when he teaches (our arrangement is that he reviews the previous day's work and I teach the new lesson each day), I need to write quietly in my journal in the back of the room, because I can't correct him-- as that would be a sign of disrespect-- but I somehow need to avoid making a grotesque face in his direction. But yesterday I gained a newfound respect for him. This old man takes pride in his profession. Despite the mud that has me wearing Wellies to school half the time, he always comes in perfectly polished shoes, with a shirt and tie. It never occured to him to leave the kids sitting there while he took lunch. He teaches every day at 2:00 pm. You can hang your hat on it.

I don't know what will fix the education system in Uganda. But, I can't help but think that leaving a thousand kids to bounce soccer balls off the walls as teachers make speeches essentially to each other won't get the job done. I also know that my self-righteousness will only get me in trouble, and that sometimes it makes sense to swallow one's sense of purpose and follow the adage of "When in Rome." In a sense, I'm a jerk: I probably offended the village chief, and the head of the PTA, and whoever else those guys were. But, ultimately, I like kids better than adults and I care more about one obligation than another. I have no doubt that I'll pay for this type of pigheadedness throughout my life. But, I have 51 avocados, 2 guavas, 6 papayas, 15 mangoes, a hen's egg, two jugs of milk, and 15 handwritten letters telling me I made the right decision.