Lesson planning sucks

Mukurikeyo! Welcome back!

I am officially a teacher. Be assured, this hasn’t been on my Life List since I forced a too young and over-boisterous Carl into the basement for a summer, enticing him with phonics and fractions instead of wiffleball and chase. A failed attempt. But round two’s proving quite enjoyable. It may have something to do with these kids being so eager to learn that they literally sprint, chairs held fast over their heads, from the school to my computer lab 200 yards down the road. I suppose 8 to 9 years of schooling with nary a textbook, newspaper, novel, computer, video, science experiment or playground will weigh one down with the burden of ignorance. So, I teach, asking of my students all the while, “are you picking?” (a Uganglish corruption of “are you picking up on the meaning of what I’m saying?”). Allow me to demonstrate…

A lesson in change: of language and perceptions; potential: both human and environmental; and salvation: not eternal, merely temporary.

I’ve shifted from Luganda country to Runyankore, forcing me to start afresh with my language learning. Luckily I’m right off the main tarmac, so Luganda speakers are common. Also lucky: Ugandans get a kick out of my obvious confusion, filling in my Runyankore void with Luganda and the Luganda void with English. They tease me that I speak a language all my own: Lugandankore. But my determination to catch up has been thwarted by an unexpected difficulty in finding a tutor. I sat with the local primary school English teacher, thinking his pace would suit my beginner’s speed. Not so. Spending an hour assuring him that I did, in fact, know the alphabet was quite frustrating. He was fired. Meh, I’ll find a new one with time…

But time truly does impede upon all perceptions. I now see the human child behind the filth and rags. Eat matooke with vigor. Consider coming home after the holidays a worthwhile venture instead of a death sentence. Board a bus for an 8 hour ride with patience as if it were two. Look into the faces of 28 other volunteers and see a family, when 6 months ago these strangers could do no right in my eyes. And seek out Ugandan friends for comfort and entertainment; they are peers, no longer a different species. Two of my favorite people in Uganda (barring Fr. Charles because let’s face it: he’s American) are my counterpart, Winnie, and Deacon Dez from the local parish. Deacon Dez is in limbo between university and priesthood. So for now, he eats, sleeps, goes to church, drinks Guinness and shoots the shit with me. Winnie follows an equally taxing schedule as St. Thomas’ secretary/bursar: sleep at her desk, eat at her desk, bug me to gossip with her at her desk. The other day she asked me to throw her a graduation party (from what, I don’t know). As invitees: yellow bananas and millet porridge. My response: wft? Equally as amusing, Deacon Dez and I had a long compare-and-contrast sesh on Ugandan vs. American perceptions of medical care. He complained of a nagging toothache. I told him to see a dentist. He asked me if I’d ever seen a dentist’s office in Uganda. Um, I think not… He says: but Americans see a doctor for EVERYTHING, not so? Me: Yeah, so what? Check out our life expectancy, dude. Two days later, a phone call from Deacon Dez: “I followed your advice and saw a dentist. He pulled four teeth. I only eat porridge now, damnit.” My bad. But Winnie and Dez, constant entertainment.

One of the advantages of going to a new place is that everything is new to you. Obvious, yeah I know. But think about it: these students have been stereotyped into their personae for years, becoming self-fulfilling prophecies of brains, athletes, basket-cases, princesses, criminals or whatever (80s cult classics anyone?). Then I show up behind a cloud of dust (man the dry season really does a number on the whole breathing activity)and all of these kids have the opportunity to wholly reinvent themselves for my analysis. And hey, shame of me for thinking my Psych degree was superfluous; Howard Gardner’s theory on multiple intelligences has proved quite useful not only in teaching but also in promoting egalitarianism. Take one of my favorite students, Brian. This kid’s a pitbull of a boy: small, scowling, unmotivated and pushes his luck if he sees you waver. But the first time he registered on my radar was when I went to chide him for having a program open that was clearly not Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing. A few lessons before I had attempted to get the students to master mouse movements by showing them a math trick with the calculator accessory. No matter which number was chosen, after a series of calculations, the final solution would always be 7. I know, “wow!”, right? All I got was a lot of blank stares and repeating decimals. But here’s Brian, two weeks later, replicating the multistep process on the calculator, ending with 7. “Never mind that you’re not practicing your ASDFJKL; positioning, you remember this?” “Yes.” “And you understand it?” “Yes.” Holy mother of God this kid’s smart. Chills abound. The best part (or worst depending on how you want to look at it) is that when I told Fr. Charles about Brian over a tilapia, potatoes and avocado dinner was that he was astounded. In fact, after his initial gape, he confided that he was contemplating giving Brian the ol’ heave-ho for poor performance, insubordination, and overall lack of motivation. What a disaster. But as long as I’m here, Brian will be too. This kid’s smile blows my mind every time I see it…

Brian’s just one student; I have 114 others, and they’re all unique. Victor, Anthony, Sebuwufu and Ronald x 2 forgo break tea to goof off on the computers. That’s fine, even solitaire teaches mouse control… Fiona kicks ass at Sudoku. Desire and Josephine are indignant at the fact that only the boys have a volleyball team. Mudathru can draw like it’s nobody’s business. I’m sure the list goes on; I’ve only been at St. Thomas for a month and a half. But my list of things these students should and must experience in the next 20 months is a mile and a half long.

I don’t feel like delving into the untapped potential of my surrounds, but how access to water can be the biggest day-to-day challenge for these people when there are over 40 fresh water lakes in the district is a huge mystery to me. Hopefully a solution will be elucidated in time, finishing a damn blog post was a bigger challenge for me today…

Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not over the moon, slap an “F yeah Uganda!” tattoo on my ass, Angelina Jolie an African baby happy to be here all the time. Frustrations are encountered every day, being all the more potent when they’re unforeseen. A teacher canes a student. A drunkard stumbles past the computer lab, proposing marriage. A primary school uniform-clad girl calls me a sinner as I run past. You get the gist. My salvation? Running. So you can imagine how craptacular it is when these slaps in the face turn up at the start of a 10-mile training run. But for the most part, marathon training delays my approaching lunacy. But when running fails (in the form of a pursuing punk kid), nail polish, organic lip gloss, cereal, mints and magazines from the fine people in Illinois do the trick. Bet you’ve never seen anyone cry over new body lotion before, have you? And you won’t, I’m still horrible at taking pictures.