December 14, 2010
It’s been a long time since I’ve written. I think writing is a useful exercise to process your experiences and gain understanding, but, especially when you are feeling overwhelmed, it’s often the last thing you want to do in those precious moments of leisure.
Hence, it’s been a long time—but I repeat myself. The school term ended, I turned in my exam grades yesterday, and now I write to you from a plane somewhere in the airspace over Nigeria or the Central African Republic, en route to Nairobi, Kenya. From there, I’ll take a 12-hour overnight bus to Kampala, Uganda, where I will meet my beloved sister who is working there for four months through the American Jewish World Service Program (Thankfully for my parents, our remaining, supremely rational brother had the wisdom to pass on the opportunity to complete the Lee Africa Trifecta). I look forward to spending the holidays with her, traveling through Uganda, Tanzania, and Rwanda. I will especially be interested to compare the cultures of West and East Africa, and my sister’s urban experience with my own rural one.
Speaking of which, my rural experience in the village came to a head in the last few weeks. When I last wrote, I said we were discussing with the chief the last-ditch effort to broker a deal in which the school would become a jointly-owned, community establishment rather than that of a private, effectively absentee landowner who doesn’t seem to have the interests of the students at heart. It had become clear that, otherwise, our NGO could not establish an effective partnership at the school and so would be leaving at the end of the school term.
This effort failed. The chief met with the school proprietor to try to draw out any interest in this scheme (we knew the proprietor had previously been interested in selling), but, now that the school is running well at a 120+ pupils, he is no longer interested. The chief made clear to him that this would mean our NGO would be leaving the village—a result which he would be unhappy with—and the proprietor responded that the chief should not worry because he’d continue a number of the policies we had put in place and that he would attract other “whites” in the future. In any event, we “whites” are leaving, and I hope any other ones will do their homework first.
Ultimately, as outsiders, we can’t force the issue. Only if we can support the school and community organically should we stay. There is a good chance, if the proprietor follows through on continuing the policies he has promised to maintain, the school will be okay. However, as you know by now, I seriously question his integrity and competence. As for the chief and other village elders I have spoken with, they all believe the school will fail again once we leave; I truly hope they are wrong. Honestly, there is nothing that would make me feel better than to see the school that I have poured my heart into these past four months not need me or any other outsider.
Even once we made the decision not to have organizational presence at the school, I seriously considered staying on just as an individual teacher. After all, I have really grown attached to the village: the beautiful green mountains I wake up to outside my room, the market women’s indefatigable laughter (I think often at my expense), and, most of all, the children I teach and have, in doing so, come to know and love.
But, ultimately, I think the school will have to face certain realities, and my presence will just delay whatever those are. Moreover, by leaving now and seeing what unfolds, there is a chance that we could come back on better terms before my time here is through, should the proprietor change his mind (I promised the chief that I would check-in at least once a month during the next school term, but I admit this contingency plan is more a hope than anything else). Finally, I am committed to Pagus:Africa, and as the on-the-ground representative of this small NGO, it is important we choose the schools we support wisely. There are a LOT of village schools in this area that desperately need help, so we must choose those schools where there exist eager, focused, and capable Ghanaian partners whose visions we can support rather than trying to concoct one for them. I believe that the development world, on the whole, should temper itself in this way—bleeding hearts alone won’t help make systemic change.
That being said, my decision to go has been painful. At the monthly PTA meeting last week, I had to get up and tell the parents I was leaving earlier than planned, and there was quite an uproar. Of course, I couldn’t tell them the truth about why I was leaving, because otherwise they would be even more likely to withdraw their children from the school—you see, there is such an irrational faith in the “white man” here (which has led to the burgeoning class sizes this term) and, as a result, my departure would inevitably lead to an irrational withdrawal as well. To compensate against that, I just said how unfortunate it was I had to go and how much faith I had in the school and its leadership. I felt conflicted about lying to them about the latter part, but I still believe it was the right thing to do: they can judge for themselves next school term and withdraw or continue accordingly, but they ought to at least give the proprietor a chance, no matter how stupid I think the man is.
More important was telling the kids, which was even harder. But I think they and I both will always remember these past few months with some warmth and excitement—I am sure they were highly unusual for us all.
Okay, that’s all for now. By the next time I write, I will know where I am going to be next term, but it will be in this same general region of Ghana. By now, I think we are in Democratic Republic of Congo airspace. Whoot! Oh, and don’t worry, Mom and grandmoms, that is AIR space. It’s safe up here.
p.s. A professional, adventure photographer came and stayed with me for a while so, as a result, I have some pretty awesome photos from this experience! I will post them in due time.
