This Bit Right Here
Grandpa and I had a fight over who would use the “fine new broom” first. You can see who won.
This morning at quarter to 7:00 the phone rang. Unknown number. “Yeah, good morning. This is (some guy you don’t know) from WAEC. I understand you’re teaching math here. I need to speak to you. Today.”
I paused and tried to find a functioning part of my brain, “I’m very busy today… what’s this about?” He laughed, “Don’t be afraid. I just need to do… an evaluation.” Ugh. Fine.
How he got my number I’m not sure. These guys have been all over town, though, and they’re all very interested to see the white woman who teaches math. So it goes without saying I’ll be very surprised if I meet him and this is anything remotely official. I’ll walk in to town shortly to find out.
Life has been small more manageable the past few days. Not having school has helped. Cleaning the house has helped. A few glasses of wine in the afternoon has helped.
Right now I want a time machine. Send me back. Send me forward. Just get me out of this bit right here.
Sorry Yeah
I spent the morning on the porch playing Slap Jack, eating snacks, and reading books with Grandpa. His older sister Amelia came and sat down. He rattled something off in Mano and she turned to me, “RB, Grandpa said you were crying.” I nodded, “Yes, I was.”
She laughed.
“Don’t be a jerk,” I snapped. “Krista left. Nya left. I haven’t seen my family in a year.”
She looked away, “Sorry…”
Yeah, me too.
You Na Crazy
Yada is my little crazy man. He will scream “RB!” through the window for half an hour if the door is closed. I can hardly guess how long it goes on when I’m not home.
This morning was hard. I was tired, hung over, and depressed. But I pulled myself out of bed, made some coffee, and had a huge trash fire. That always lifts the spirits small. I lit a big piece of plastic and stepped back to watch. Yada came up behind me and grabbed my hand. We stood there in silence watching the black smoke until something exploded and we ran shrieking back to the house.
He kills me.
All morning he was rolling on the floor begging for bread. “RB, give me bread?” on a non-stop loop, each time his voice so sure this was the time I’d say yes. Finally after half an hour I put my pen down, “Yada, you are making my head hurt. You are making me crazy.” He stopped and cocked his head, “No, RB, you na crazy.” I laughed, “Thank you. But are you sure?” He nodded, “Yes!” Then he paused, “RB, give me bread?”
Oh god, help me.
I packed my bag and walked to school. The road was deserted and the few students I saw tried to convince me to go home. I went anyway because I’d promised to. Sure enough, Saye was there waiting for me, followed closely by Emmanuel, Obediah, and a handful of underclassmen.
Saye has burst into bloom the past few weeks and surprises even himself. I solved some very difficult problems for him then erased and told him to do it again. I was glad 11th grade Saye was watching because everything I’ve taught his class was necessary to solve the problem and his older namesake stumbled on some of the basics.
The past few weeks 11th grade Saye has sat at the front of class bored, unresponsive, doing other things. I haven’t forced the issue. Today I think he saw how real this game is, though, and how carefully I’m trying to cut our path. This year I’ve given as many 12th graders as I can a leg up and tried to chunk them over the wall. In 11th grade we’re building a ladder I pray most will be able to climb. And as much as we’ve fought and struggled and all shed tears on my porch, this 12th grade year is one of the proudest accomplishments on my life.
I’d promised to help some of them create email addresses for their EARTH University applications and today they asked to do it. So we walked all the way to the County Education Office by my house. Leaving campus I walked with Festus. “I’m planning for quizzing next year,” he said. “I’m going to help you so we can raise your name and the name of Central High high. We didn’t do right by you this year.” I laughed, “Dat not true! Besides, what if you’re in Costa Rica??” He smiled shyly, “Then I will communicate with you and I’ll send someone to carry out the plan.”
God I love these kids.
“Are you sure they’ll let us in?” several worried as we approached the office, pointing to their house slippers and colored clothes. I just smiled, “I’ll beg. They know me.” And sure enough no one batted an eye, “RB, you brought your students? Come right in.” Grumpy George even stayed an extra half hour late to help us finish. I think even he was heartened to see the giant grins on everyone’s faces.
It was like Christmas in Sanniquellie.
Most of them chose “Who was your favorite teacher?” for one of their security questions. For some reason I was always surprised when they put my name.
Little Prince and I were last and we walked back to town together. “You have done so well for us!” he beamed. “I struggle because in 7th and 8th grade my school had no math teacher, but you have tried so hard for us!” Until a week ago this kid had hardly breathed a word to me, grinning silently and writing seriously from his seat wedged in the middle of the pack. It just goes to show you never know who is watching, listening, growing.
Even as we left the Resource Center the guards cheered, “Thank you for the students, RB! Thank you! Thank you!” I hope, in some small way, I’m helping to change the perception of teachers here, how they act, what they do. The other math teacher at school quietly approached me on the road last week and asked for a copy of my mock WAEC. “I want to practice my math,” he said. Word on the street seems to be that I know what I’m doing.
Fake it until you make it, baby. Fake it until you make it.
“The more I give to thee the more I have.”
~William Shakespeare
Happy Birthday to Me
George graduates from his computer class! I’m not sure which one of us was more proud.
Happy birthday to me. I was small sad when I woke up this morning, but thankfully I had somewhere to be. Today George graduated from computer class! He invited me to come and begged that I comply, “Ms. RB, I would feel so happy to see you there!” So I put on my favorite gold dress, packed my bags, and walked to the capacity building center by the UN camp, what the kids call “the Bangla area.”
They had decorated the small building and crammed as many plastic chairs inside as could fit. One of the officers ushered me to a seat near the front and I was delighted to soon be joined by Pelle and the rest of the UN MIL guys. The program started about an hour late (just on Africa time) and the students sang gospel songs and told jokes until everyone had arrived.
I couldn’t see George but I was sure he was there. He was the second name they called and he came bounding from the back flashing his huge smile. He accepted his certificate and held it up for me. I shot him a big thumbs-up and he chunked it in my lap and went to his seat. What a goof! After the program the Bangladeshi officers insisted I come to the back room with the rest of the UN MIL and have refreshments. But I wanted to see my kids!
They insisted. I went.
George was waiting for me when I finally escaped. I gave him back his certificate and we had someone take our picture. He’s the best. I was so proud of him and so glad to spend my birthday at his program. Leaving, I went directly to campus and hung out with the 12th graders before teaching two eerily well behaved 11th grade classes.
WAEC must be on everyone’s mind because Daniel stopped me in the middle of class just to make sure I’d still be here next year, “Really you will be with us?” I nodded. “Ohhh that’s good!” They’ve seen how much I’ve been with the 12th graders and I think they’re worried I’ll leave and no one will be here for them. And I can see why. None of the other teachers have stepped into that room for weeks.
George spread the word that it was my birthday. They were all furious I hadn’t said anything sooner. I expected they’d all ask my age, but instead they just made me promise to listen to the radio all night, “We’re going to request for you!”
After school I went to Roni’s and bought a dusty bottle of wine for the occasion. Maima only had fish gravy but insisted I eat it even though she knows I don’t love fish. I sat in my usual chair picking at it and felt like I was back in Kakata, forcing down as much as I could for the sake of my Ma’s feelings. Two Savannah’s at the club and I’m feeling fine. Just about time to go home and dance…
White Woman Strong-o
Last week I came out of the Green Bar singing “African Man” with Rufus. I danced across the street and the pen-pen drivers broke into song, “White woman strong-o! She na take bike-o!” I think, after nine months, I’m finally getting through to them.
Chicka Chicka Boom Boom
Grandpa and Zed write on the porch by candlelight.
Tuesday night we had one of our usual dance parties in the office. Probably twenty kids crammed into the tiny room and it was instantly a sweat box. As darkness fell no one was ready to stop so I brought out the flashlight and set it on its end on the window ledge. By 8:00 only Grandpa and Zed remained.
Cold was coming so I locked the office and we sat by the coal pot. “I wan’ write my name!” Zed said. I brought him a sheet. “Nooo! I na able!” he said. I asked if he could spell it and he just stared at me, “Darius Gbah.” I wrote it for him, “Can you copy it?” He bit his lip and got to work. “I wan’ write ABC!” Grandpa announced, never one to be left out. I brought a sheet and he scrawled a giant A, B, C, D then stopped. “I na able. Bring Chicka Chicka Boom Boom!”
The entire back cover is a colorful alphabet and he loves it. I propped it up and he got to work, singing and shaking his butt to the music while carefully writing out the entire alphabet for the first time ever. “RB! I can write! I can WRITE!” I gave him a high five and he jumped up into a spontaneous dance. “Marry me! Marry me!” They know this is my favorite song so they’ve started signing it to me all the time.
Love it.
That’s Zed to You
School was ok until I got to 11B. About ten 12th graders came to campus and I watched them work problems for each other on the board while quietly answering other questions in the back. But in 11B the numbers were high and they were wild. The chemistry teacher was trying to give his test today and had chosen my period. I got him to leave, settled the kids, and started my notes.
But I was exhausted and my brain, somehow, kept forgetting that we’re in Africa. We were solving a problem with x2yz as a term and I accidentally said “zee” instead of “zed.” This always kills them and today was no exception. “You want me to speak very American to you today?” I said in my clearest English, “Fine.” (I usually speak quite a bit of Liberian English in class.) I continued saying “zee” and they continued losing it. Then it started getting ugly and I could hardly get them under control. Newton was very vexed. He shot his hand in the air with a frown. I couldn’t hear a word he said. I got them to quiet down and called for him to try again. “Ms. RB,” he said, shaking his head, “zee is a bad word in Gio. That’s why they’re acting so.” They erupted again, disappointed the secret was out. (I speak small Mano, but almost no Gio and they know that.)
I waited again.
“My friends,” I said, “your WAEC is in one year. We have three years worth of material left to learn. There are ten students over there right now,” I pointed across the courtyard to the 12th grade room, “who are taking their math very seriously. You would do well to follow their example. They have one more week with me. You have one more year!”
It got silent.
Everyone has seen the 12th graders around campus in their colored clothes, whispering seriously in small groups. WAEC is like the Voldemort of Liberia. It is something to be feared and respected, to speak about in hushed voices. I had their attention and managed to keep it, careful to hit every single “Z” as a “zed” the rest of class.
I’ve mucked through it with the 12th graders this year. My expectations for next year are much higher. Something tells me it will come much quicker than I, and they, expect…
Festus walked in while we were solving today. The handful of students there turned and clapped, “Good! Our mathematical dragon is here!”
Love it.
Thats My Boy!
The math babes take part one of my mock exam. Day one was very organized and behavior was great. There are 85… so about 30 more you can’t see in the picture!
It’s been a whirlwind few days. I gave my mock multiple-choice test on Friday then turned right around and graded it. I lugged them down the street to the club and Nathaniel gasped, “WooooW!” He kept the cold beer coming while I plowed through the 650 some pages, 4,100 some questions.
Most did as poorly as I expected, but the few that I knew would shine exceeded my expectations. “That’s my boy!” I yelled, knocking the table as I calculated Festus’ curve setting 78%. If he scores that next week he’ll almost certainly land in one of the top classes, but I haven’t told him just in case I’m wrong. He’s worked so hard for so long that no one else was even close, trailing by at least ten points. Even studious, dedicated George fell in every one of my traps. But that’s why we did this. The test tricked him. I’ll show him his missteps and hopefully he’ll sail through next week.
He reminds me so much of myself. I’m sure that’s why I like him so much. He’s the kid who works so hard, does everything right, but can’t quite get to the top. But he wants it so he’ll make it as long as he can endure the heartbreak and disappointment. Many teachers saw something in me and nudged me along my path. I can only hope I’ve been able to do the same for George in some small way.
So that was Friday.
I finished the grades around 1:00am then turned around and started putting the essay packets together at 8:00am. I kept the door closed so I could work undisturbed but the kids did not like this and proceeded to scream, “RB! RB-o! Where place you at? I hungry!” I sighed, “Ma friends, I working. We’ll dance later, yeah?” Incoherent squealing in response followed by more, “RB! RB-o!”
This is my life.
I finished putting stickers on the tests, all of them even the complete fails because, well, 99% of them deserve it, put on my favorite suit and power walked to campus. Dark clouds hung ominously to the north and raced along with me. I approached the gate and my students cheered, “You’re exactly on time! Thank you!”
I directed them into one of the big rooms and as they scrambled for desks the wind hit and threw dust and trash into a blinding wall. The rain pelted down and the wind sucked doors open and slammed them all around the courtyard. I tried to hold our door open while they crowded in with desks on their heads and rain swirled in through the open walls, leaving us all damp and chilly. The room I’d chosen wasn’t quite big enough so I sent some of them next door. TIA. We weren’t changing rooms in a rain storm! Yes, they’d spy, but, yes, they’d spy anyway. They do it when I’m two feet away looking directly at them. “My friends,” I begged, “half of you have asked me to write you recommendations. Do you want my last memory to be you looking off Prince’s paper?” Laughter, “You are right!”
They did it anyway. I knew they would.
The test was quite difficult and they were tired and hungry: Not in the mood. As they finished I handed back their part one exams and gave everyone a new pencil and eraser for their real test. It cost me about $10US but it was worth it to see their smiles. It was too late for most of them to learn more than a few strategies (like answer all the questions!) and get a little confidence. We’ve done more math in the last eight months than most have done in three years. Whatever happens we’ve tried our best.
When we finished I walked in to town with Lincoln, the lone straggler. I asked why he’d been about 45 minutes late to the test, “Did you get caught in the rain?” He shook his head, “Yes, but that isn’t why I was late. My brother died yesterday during the tests and we were burying him their morning as the rain came.” Jesus. I told him I was sorry and he just nodded. I asked why he’d missed so much school the past few months and he told me his father was seriously sick and there was no one else to take care of him, “The man can’t walk or talk. I’ve been going to Ivory Coast to get food for us.” I repeat: Jesus.
We reached town and I excused myself at Maima’s. She fed me jolof rice and I inhaled it. A man sat on the porch registering Lonestar SIMs. I needed to register the one I use for my internet so I hurried home to get it. The kids were destroying my porch and yard. I couldn’t take the screaming so I packed some books and resolved to have a quiet day in town. I registered my SIM, changed some money in the market, and spent the entire afternoon drinking 7Up at the club. I put my feet up, read my book, and tried not to think about school or math. Miraculously no one harassed me.
It was cold from the rain so I pulled on my sweater and Nathaniel sat down with me. He’s my favorite so I was delighted. We talked about Liberia, America, witches, and Twilight (that one was all him). He “Wow!”-ed at everything and cracked me up. Man I needed a good laugh.
I headed home but at the junction I saw a swarm of kids screaming in half delight, half terror. I paused to see what was happening and out of nowhere the wiry ten foot Gio devil sprang up and started striding toward me. The children shrieked and scattered. I turned and walked quickly and calmly the opposite direction. Thankfully he’s learned not to follow me.
At home I lit the candles and the melancholy started creeping in. I took the radio on the porch, climbed on the railing, and allowed myself to be still and quiet for the first time in weeks. I sang along with Akon, Rihanna, and Alicia Keys and tried, again, not to think about school or math.
I stayed in bed until 9:00 the next morning then wrote thirteen pages of notes on variation for quizzing at 2:00. As exhausted as I am right now, I’m going to miss this in a few weeks. Also, do I really turn 28 this week? Crazy how life happens.
It’s been a wild year.
Below, I’ve attached mock WAEC exams. How well would you do?
Knock Your Chest and be Proud
Some of my proud 12th graders. From left Festus, Garrison, Emmanuel, and Emeka. I call them my “Sunday Boys.”
Today has been alright. I went down the road to the Administration Building at 10:00 to see the awarding of the BHP Billiton scholarships. All my top 11th and 12th graders were being honored and I wanted to support them. There were probably a hundred students from around the city, but I was one of eight community members, the only teacher besides Mr. Demy.
The students were thrilled. Festus and Romeo beamed as I walked in and a dozen other kids waved. I took a seat in the back and watched Avery, my neighbors who works for the County Education Office, give them a pep talk about education and life. “Knock your chest and be proud,” he said, “because this is your day. You are the light and your friends from the village will follow.” I hoped they were taking it to heart. They were called up in rows and each received a large framed certificate and a check for $70US.
This was a big deal.
The girls wore lapa suits and the boys put on the best of what they had. As Emeka and Garrison approached the front of the line they turned and waved to me. I shot them a big thumbs-up and their smiles brought tears to my eyes. They brought their certificates directly to me for approval and I clapped and took their pictures. They have both worked so hard and Emeka, Emeka was just in a motorbike accident three days ago.
I was grateful for them and their smiles. And looking around at the empty room I was acutely aware of how grateful they were for me. Many of them are the first in their family to go to school at all, let alone to graduate and win a scholarship. But they have done it by and for themselves. Again I fought back tears. I was so proud of them, so grateful to stand by their side for part of the journey. I hoped they knew someone was watching, someone cared, and someone was willing to help.
At 1:00 I gave part one of my mock WAEC. I’m getting ready to grade it now. It feels like judgment day for all of us!
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- Isaac of 11A is super quiet and super smart. He already asked when we’re starting WAEC study class for next year.
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- Odester is one of my 12th grade girls. I was surprised and delighted to see her name on the list.
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- Newton, 11B, bluffs in his Ma Ellen shirt. He wants to be an engineer. I know he will.
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- Garrison is a very average student and a very extraordinary person. He was orphaned at a young age and has put himself through school. Best smile ever, even though he’s hiding it now.
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- Peter Diah Junior of 11A has really found his voice second semester. Super proud.
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- Josephine, 11B, is our new student council president. You go girl!
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- Christian, 11A, is the giant smile in the back of the room. He loves to wink during class.
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- Romeo, outgoing president for Central High, was our emcee.
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- Some of my proud 12th graders. From left Festus, Garrison, Emmanuel, and Emeka. I call them my “Sunday Boys.”
The Witch Doctor Has Our Number
No, I don’t know where it came from. No, it doesn’t work. Yes, they haul it up on the porch. Yes, they have real wrecks.
It was really nice to go to Ganta on Tuesday. The ATM was a breeze and by 1:00 I was in the market pawing through piles of jeans. Nobody wanted to make a good deal, but I fought anyway and ended up with six pairs. I don’t know why, but it was fun and I kept thinking, “My birthday is coming up…” Then I bought some things at the Total and met Matt at Beer Garden. It was really good to see someone who understands what school and life and everything is like. He was worried I was going to early terminate too, “If anyone has a reason, RB, it’s you.”
Thanks, Matt.
But I assured him that’s anything but the answer to my problem. Life is different, yes, and life is hard, yes, but this is still where I’m supposed to be. I struggle to think of anything more important than carrying these 200 kids to their graduation. They are the future of Liberia and this is the first step they’ll take on a long road to change. They deserve to start on the right foot.
I left Ganta around 5:00 and got to Sanni just after 6:00. I hadn’t been out of the taxi even two minutes when Evelyn ran across the street and grabbed my arm, “Ms. RB! Where have you been? James and Emeka are seriously sick in the hospital.” The kids are in and out of the hospital all the time so this didn’t worry me. But she continued, “There is so much blood. They brought the Big Doctor Man and he’s working on him now.”
Now I was worried. Really worried.
Apparently James has been suffering from seizures (“spells”) and his family wanted to get traditional treatment for him. He and Emeka are from the same village so Emeka was carrying him on his motorbike. James had a “spell” on the way and caused Emeka to crash. “Blood won’t stop coming out of his mouth!” Evelyn said. Somehow word got to Mr. Demy and he sent a car to bring them to the hospital.
Oh my god.
I saw George on the way home. He was headed to the hospital but told me not to come, “They might not let you in so let it be tomorrow.” The next day Emeka was on campus taking exams. He looked very shaken but ok. I saw James on the road just now. His face is stitched back together in seven places and he’s swollen and in shock, but he was on his feet walking to a friend’s house. “Did I miss your test?” he asked. I shook my head, “Tomorrow, but James. Really. Take time. It can be next week. Rest your body.” He looked at me like he didn’t really understand but nodded and thanked me. Tuesday night I was afraid he was on his deathbed but here he was talking about the WAEC on the side of the road. I pray he’s able to sit for it. He might have to wait an entire year to try again.
They’ve all worked so hard. In spite of the arguments and red marks they’ve made me so proud. My Sunday boys asked to hold extra class every morning this week, “You will come, right? Please come, Ms. RB!” They said 8:00. We compromised with 10:00. It’s beyond exhausting but they’re so eager, so motivated, so proud of themselves. After class yesterday Emmanuel smiled at me, “Ms. RB, math is scared of me now. It used to be I was scared of it, but now it sees me and goes running.” That’s one of the best things I could imagine a student saying, especially when earlier in the year he loudly lamented, “Ehhhh god, math can kill quick-o!”
Today we did a lot of review of things we have studied the past few months. I was worried but they volunteered confidently and even asked me to split the board so they could race side-by-side. At least one of them remembered each problem. I hope the mock I wrote is challenging but doable. It’s modeled exactly after a real WAEC. I spent two days typing it last week and Mr. Demy graciously paid to have it photocopied, all 13 pages. Most of the other teachers got two mimeographed sheets… then again, that’s all they needed.
I stayed on campus after study class even though I wasn’t giving exams. It makes the kids happy to see me and I knew they could use the moral support. Many of them still have application questions too and the more I can answer on campus the fewer will be waiting at my house in the morning. They’re good kids. They’re just seriously wearing me out.
“Striving for success without hard work is like trying to harvest where you haven’t planted.”
~ David Bly
life magnanimous 