I’ll take Chaos for $500
Happy leap year! Mr. Demy called me into his office yesterday to tell me WAEC study classes start today—is that ok? Jesus. Guess it has to be. My class is today and Krista’s is tomorrow, but she went to Monrovia Monday so I’ll do both this week. I’m glad for the kids—this was supposed to start six weeks ago—but the timing is terrible. This is review week then 4th period ends next week. I’m giving my exams tomorrow and Friday.
We’ve been reviewing all week and yesterday I started a Jeopardy tournament in each of my classes. I knew it would be ok in 11th grade, but I’ve been too afraid to try in 12th grade. They can hardly do group work because they can hardly move in the room. But I wanted to try. I knew it would take 15 to 20 minutes to get them organized and explain the rules so I set aside two days. Tetoe was my score keeper and we had a brutal time calling on groups. Everyone always thought they were first and, in true Liberian fashion, screamed and screamed if I didn’t call on them. I announced the winning team in each class would win new copybooks and I think that fanned the flames. We had fun though. I was prepared for chaos and it was only partial chaos: success.
11th grade was entirely smooth. Both classes were small and we’ve done similar things before so it was almost like a real classroom (except for the trash fire outside the window).
You Must Surely Defeat
Yesterday sucked. I spent the morning in tears, even up until it was time to go to school. I told Krista I wanted to walk alone and hoped she wouldn’t take it personally. My emotions were all over the place and I felt inexplicably sick. I fought back tears as the kids ran to hug me and screamed my name. I wasn’t sure I should be going to school at all, but there was no class the rest of the week because the kids were travelling to Bong County to compete in football, volleyball, and kickball.
Quizzing was supposed to go too, but sitting at the club I saw Festus walk past. “You must surely defeat!” I yelled. He smiled big and stopped, “In quizzing?” he asked. “Exactly so,” I replied. “Oh, but Ms. RB we aren’t doing quizzing,” he said. I just looked at him, “Chaa!” He shook his head. “Three of our men can’t afford to go.” I asked him how much it cost: $450LD per person. I pulled my last $20US out of my wallet. “This is enough, right?” He smiled shyly and paused—this is always a nerve-wracking question to get from your math teacher. “Ms. RB, it’s $50 too much,” (about $0.75) he said. I pressed it into his hand, “Keep it for the team.”
I’ve been coaching them three hours a week for six months and we’ve never competed. It is so worth $20 to see what they can do. It would also be a huge boost for them and the school if we won. They graduate in a few months and I’ll have to start over with new kids. The 11th graders are good, but my relationship with the 12th graders is different. I think part of it is because the entire year has been a battle of me vs. them.
The kids I’ve gotten through to are so grateful, though, and so bright that they are truly my pride and joy. Fifty years from now I will still think about George, Festus, Garrison, and Prince. They are all going to accomplish great things for Liberia but none of them seem to realize it yet. They are so humble and hard working.
Prince sat on my porch one morning with an application for a high school scholarship for next year. “What if I don’t graduate, Ms. RB? I have to be ready.” I laughed and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Prince, if you don’t graduate there is no hope for your classmates. I promise you will graduate… but I’ll sign your form anyway.” He shook his head and smiled, “By the grace of god.” Winning in Bong would give them a well deserved shot of self confidence. And if they lose? Well, they won’t lose. They’ll be too ashamed to tell me if they do!
Prince (the one from our office) is driving up from Monrovia with my new documents today. My wallet was rogued in the market Saturday so I couldn’t travel with the kids. I have all my fingers crossed for some packages from home. I don’t even care what’s inside. I just need something… to break the monotony.
Never Alone
This morning 17 kids lined my porch, coloring pictures on the back of my old grade sheets and screaming their heads off. The funeral next door has been going on for over a week. We are officially the day care.
(Too bad I still don’t have a voice!)
Jeans, Lemon Fanta, and Fresh Cold
I’m sick again. Tuesday we travelled to Ganta to welcome the new Response Volunteers and, even though we got a UN ride, by midnight I was stuffed up and coughing. How does this keep happening? I started losing my voice yesterday afternoon and by last night it was completely gone. No one could understand a word I was saying.
Ganta was fun, though. We got there early in the afternoon and Matt K was already there. He wanted to shop for jeans, exactly the same thing K and I had in mind. We went to Beer Garden for pepper soup then headed into the market. Oh, it’s a good thing I didn’t bring more money! I somehow managed to buy only one lapa all weekend, a gorgeous purple and gray design. All my money went instead to jeans and shirts.
After almost two hours in the market we went back to Matt’s for a fashion show and opened a bottle of wine while we waited for everyone to arrive. They didn’t get there until almost 9:00! We had all planned outrageous outfits to go dancing and that threw a big wrench in it. We took them to dinner and everyone except Matt’s new roommate wanted to go home. I know they had a rough day but: bummer. We finally got them settled and found our way to the dance floor around 11:30. At midnight there was a problem with the generator and the lights cut out. I was just getting started! It’s just as well, though, because an hour later I started losing my voice.
The next morning we took them to get egg sandwiches and they had orientation with their principals. After the workshop we took them to do small shopping in the market and I spent what remained of my money on floor mats, jolof rice, and lemon Fanta.
When Life Gives you Casava… Make GB
It was a rough week. The kids were restless and behavior was at another low. I’m back to yelling and sitting in the corner. This makes me feel very discouraged. Just a few weeks apart and they forget all the progress we made? Depressing.
I gave a quiz in 11th grade last week and collected copybooks. Massive failure. They’re not getting me. They’re not doing their work. They’re not taking me seriously. Sure I’m trying to teach them something entirely new, to think for themselves and synthesize information… but it’s been six weeks and our progress is small. I must move on. A few of them are on board like Newton, Daniel, Lee, and Morris, but many of the rest don’t even know to get on the boat, let alone where to find it.
We had a heartbreaking faculty meeting on Tuesday. Mr. Demy read out a list of 12th graders who had failed any subjects within the last three years. Would we allow them to sit for the WAEC? Given all the conversations I’ve had with students the past few weeks I knew I’d have to be careful. Listen. Stay calm. Choose your words precisely. A clutch of students hovered just outside the window straining to hear their fate. I knew they’d expect me to talk. I knew they’d feel betrayed if, as their sponsor, I watched passively.
We were divided. Some teachers talked about the reputation of the school and the embarrassment of sending students who would fail. Some teachers talked bravely about our failings as a school and a faculty. “Who allowed them to get to 12th grade? We did.” As I sensed a vote nearing I shot up my arm. Mr. Demy called for immediate silence and I tried to summon my most calm and forceful voice. “As their sponsor I beg, my friends,” I said. “I beg that you think of the children. We have allowed them to run the race for this long. Let them try to finish. They will feel discouraged if we send them back now. They are still here. Let us at least see what they can do. Let all who want to stand for WAEC and let us do our best to prepare them.”
I’d almost forgotten I’d spent half our class waiting for them to stop disrupting. All I could think about was Junior Dahn and the quiet injustices happening all around us. Some of these kids are just trying to pull themselves up. If the other teachers aren’t going to help the least they can do is stand aside and let them keep fighting forward rather than pushing them back. Some of these kids sparkle with a promise of a better future and a stronger Liberia. They’re smart and hard working and want to do the right thing. They are why I am here. They deserve better than this. I will do whatever I can to help them find it.
The little things
George and Festus came up to me as I left campus Monday. They were trying very hard to be serious, but their grins showed through. “We’re overwhelmed,” George said, “with how much you’re doing for us.” I did a three hour lesson on arithmetic series for the quizzing team the day before. “We took up a collection. It isn’t enough, but we want you to have it.” Festus handed me $80LD (just over $1US) and I thought I’d cry.
“Gentlemen,” I said, “if I take this I’m buying you chalk with it.” They stared at each other. “Please just take it.” George pressed it into my hand.
Love, love, love them.
The Silent Treatment
Twelfth grade was terrible this week. I had to go back to sitting in the corner until they were ready to learn. This seriously vexed Othello. “Ms. RB, I do not know what is happening. I’m asking you questions but you won’t answer them. And why are you sitting? You are supposed to stand over there! Ms. RB, I beg! What’s wrong?”
Don’t laugh. Don’t smile. Shrug and maintain bitch face. So hard.
The Other Side
Attendance was atrocious at school yesterday. Only about 15 of my 85 12th graders reached to campus: staggeringly low compared to the 50 I had the day before when someone (brilliantly) started a rumor I was giving a quiz. I had planned for poor attendance, but wow. I’d created worksheets and, for the first time, was giving them group work. We do it all the time in 11th grade, but we struggle to even get through notes in 12th grade. It was obviously a new idea for most of them.
I put them in groups of three and handed out the worksheets, a trig problem from the 2010 WAEC. I was worried 30 minutes would be too much, but they ended up spending about two hours on it. (When no other teacher came I taught three periods straight.) I had a lot of fun circulating around the room trying to nudge them toward the answer. Some of them saw a whole other side of me for the first time and I could tell they were surprised. “Look! She’s laughing!” So often in their class I get to be a bitch and only a bitch. “See? I wanted to say. I keep telling you we could have fun if you’d stop disrupting!”
When they had all finished Prince got up and they started going through quizzing questions. This always makes me smile so big. I just sat in the corner and watched, interjecting only when there was disagreement about an answer or pronunciation.
Priorities
Newton ran up to me as I walked between classrooms today. “Mr. Demy sent me home because I have colored clothes,” he sighed. I excused him and invited him to come to the house and copy my notes. Ten minutes into class I saw him sprint past the window and duck inside. Mr. Demy revved his motorbike outisde and Newton lept behind the door with a grin. I was supposed to throw him out, but instead I smirked and tried not to laugh as I continued my lesson. Mr. Demy roared past the window and I waved Newton to his seat.
Priorities, people. Priorities.
You Only Have One Life
Per Radio Nimba:
“A projector has gone missing from a house behind the Prince Tokpah store in Sanniquellie city. If the said item is not returned the owner will see about it traditionally. He reminds you that you only have one life.”
life magnanimous 