Discuss an accomplishment or event, formal or informal, which marked your transition from childhood to adulthood within your culture, community, or family. (650 limit)
We were told to expect that many of the children would be troubled and hungry, and that it could be difficult to connect.
Sunday we arrived weary at remote Ganap, South Africa to prepare our classrooms. I could see children lined up behind the outer fence of the dusty school; their dark sparkling eyes boring into us. Reflecting what?, I wondered. Curiosity? Doubt? Wonderment? Begrudging acceptance? Hope?
Eight months of preparing our English lessons; meticulously ordered handbooks, multi-colored poetry anthologies, heartfelt donations of Doctor Seuss - yet I’m not sure we’re ready.
We’re strangers, intruders even.
Monday, after breakfast, my three colleagues and I awaited the arrival of our 27 fifth graders who we expected to range from 8-15 years old. One of my brothers was also a fifth grader but how similar would he be to this assemblage of “bana,” some walking two hours each morning to work with us? In all, 165 deserving children joined our 35 American School of Paris student teachers.
Two boys didn’t show. They are brothers and needed to spend the day in search of the week’s water for their family. My breakfast now feeling heavy inside me, we began class. The morning felt unproductive; awkward smiles, encouraging words met with reticence. Frustrated, I suggested during the midday break that the children sit with me in a corner of the room.
I asked them to teach me some of their language, Setswana. They looked shocked. One of the boys even asked me to repeat what I said so he could have another student translate – just to make sure. I realized that they had likely never met a stranger who showed interest in their cultural roots; after all, they need to learn English because the South African government doesn’t offer the national high school matriculation exam in their language.
Yes, please, I confirmed, I would like to learn. And so for the next thirty minutes, I would say a basic phrase in English and the children would translate it for me to repeat.
Good morning. “Du-mela”.
Thank you. “Ke-alle-boha”.
Animal. “Di-polo-holo”
It wasn’t easy! They laughed so hard at my attempts to make the sound “zhlou”. The kids would excitedly pop up and down, shrieking, “That is no good!” as I tried and tried again. When we reconvened class, I felt the joy of a powerful new bond. I still feel it.
Tuesday morning on the dry, bumpy ride back to school my head was filled with stories from my friends about the difficulties encountered in many of the other classes. My friend Noah confided in me that numerous older students, especially the boys, were disruptive or making no effort to engage in class.
After lunch, I was heading back to class, when a student I hadn’t met pulled at my shirt to get my attention. I turned to introduce myself; he interjected and told me his name was Erik from eighth grade.
Eighth grade is Noah’s class. This is his ultimate troublemaker.
“You are boy that learns Tswana?” He bluntly asked me. I nodded.
“Ok”, he said resolutely, “You learn Tswana, I learn English.”
Erik presented his hand for me to shake and ran off. Initially, I was stunned. Quickly, I understood the possibilities this positive energy could help create here. At the end of the day Erik found me and suggested I study because the next day he would test me on what I remembered! He did.
Thirteen days later, I was inspired by Erik’s spirited delivery of an original “I Have a Dream” speech. I felt proud of him and gratified that I could galvanize these children with my own brand of enthusiasm.
Now as I reflect, I realize the children and I stumbled upon a measure of the human condition. We discovered that compassion and empathy are traits that bind us; I understood their vulnerability, made myself vulnerable, and they responded.