"we are learning from you"

Today marks officially two weeks since I have been teaching. In my first two weeks I have learned a lot. I have had challenges and successes. I have felt lots of joy and lots of frustration. What I have taken to be a very important lesson is this: The education system here in Mozambique is extremely different than the education system of the States; and to be quite honest, it needs a lot of work. However, I have also learned that despite the country I am in, or the education system in which I am working, students are students in all of their glory, desire to learn, extreme sass, occasional laziness, and willingness to listen and follow instructions. Instead of describing the way my school and my students operate with adjectives, I’m going to tell you a few stories and you can choose the adjectives yourself. Hopefully these stories also give you insight about some of the emotions I’ve felt over these last two weeks, and how hopeful/excited/skeptical/nervous I am for next class, next week, and next trimester.

Doors before Chores before Scores

I arrived at school on Tuesday, February 16th, exactly one week and one day after the first day of school. As my last blog post revealed, the school did not have keys to open the doors to the classrooms at our secondary campus the whole first week. Students came every single day and hung around while teachers sat around in the office and nobody learned and nobody taught. 

However, keys were finally obtained on Monday, February 15th (from who exactly I’ll never know). On Tuesday, I got to school at 6:30am expecting to finally teach my first-ever class. At 6:45 students lined up in their turmas and we sang the national anthem while ignoring the giant slabs of aluminum that were laying in the middle of the school yard (old roofs). The roofs were a little weird, but I’ve learned not to question random giant piles of junk since I’ve been here—it happens. This also meant that the classroom roofs had likely been replaced and that was a step forward, which I took as a good sign—I wouldn’t get rained on while teaching fraction multiplication. #littlewin So far we were right on schedule. After the national anthem, the Director de Pedigógica would give morning announcements and then students would scurry off to class, which was supposed to start at 7:00. Instead, the Pedagogical Director told the students that even though the doors were open, the classrooms weren’t ready: They still needed to be cleaned and there were no desks. NO DESKS. In the classrooms. Each classroom comes “fully equipped” with desks and a chalk board, so literally 50% of the materials were missing from the classrooms. When he said that, I assumed no classes and that we would all hang around for a little bit, then leave, then come back tomorrow hoping that someone from district services got their ass into gear and brought the damn desks. But I was wrong. 

Instead the students were told that it was their job to get their own desks from the boarding school and after the rooms had all the desks they would need to clean them themselves. The Director even made a deal with the students: if they helped load the giant slabs of tin onto a truck to be taken to the boarding school, the truck would wait and drive their desks back to our campus. If they didn’t help with the slabs, they would walk desks from the boarding school about 5 blocks in the sand to our campus. Only boys were offered this deal; all the girls had to carry their desks on their own. Bullshit.

All of these chores were to be completed right now in their uniforms of cleaned and pressed white button-down shirts and black bottoms. Because that makes sense. 

After this announcement, students got to work either loading slabs, carrying desks or cleaning classrooms. I waited around for three class periods (over 2 hours) before realizing that this work would not get done before noon, so I wouldn’t be teaching any classes today. I went home a little surprised and a lot disappointed. Literally one week and one day of student learning was lost because of logistics. #oyemozambique

Hino Vezes Sete (Anthem Times Seven)

Over the past three days, I have sang the Mozambican National Anthem seven times (well, ok fine. Half sang it and half mouthed watermelon pickles because I don’t know all of the words yet). That’s more than two times per day. Why, you ask?

Each morning the students start by singing the National Anthem at 6:45, followed by brief morning announcements, and start class at 7am. On Tuesday, the chefe was not impressed by the way the students sang the national anthem, so he made them sing it again—slower, louder and more annunciation. The second time it sounded much better. I thought that meant we would move onto a different topic and get to class on time. WRONG. (I’m wrong a lot here because pretty much all things Mozambican are unpredictable). He said it was better but that he still saw some students in the way back who weren’t singing at all. We sang it again and he told the students that if he saw someone not signing, there would be consequences. The third time, everyone must have been at least pretending to sing (heh, like me) because he said “okay fine” and we moved on to getting yelled at about uniforms. Morning announcements are always so uplifting. 

On Wednesday when we again returned to Hino Time, I was crossing my fingers that students would remember the 15 minutes we wasted singing the same song over and over…and over again yesterday, and just do it right the first time. They started singing and it sounded good. I was hopeful. Except then Mamá Gelina (office secretary) left the office and started weaving through the lines of kids. She came back with one girl who had a look of dread on her face. Mamá Gelina had told the girl that since she was caught not singing, she would have to sing it by herself in front of everyone.

Holy.Shit.

The girl stood there for about 5 minutes while other girls got yelled at for mini skirts and lipstick before actually being called on to sing. That’s 5 minutes of preparing to do what as a high schooler is likely your worst nightmare. 5 minutes of thinking about everything horrible that was about to happen. Sounds like hell. I’m sure for her it was that, or worse. 

The chefe explained to the students that homegirl was about to sing the national anthem by herself and that this should be a lesson to everyone because if anyone else is caught not singing, they will face a similar fate, or worse. (But honestly, what could be worse than singing the national anthem by yourself in front of 500 of your peers?! Maybe being naked. Or having to eat an entire cake like the fat kid on Matilda. But other than those two things, I think this wins). 

When it was time for her to sing, it took her a solid three minutes to even be able to say the first word. She was terrified. She would take a deep breath, mustering up confidence to say A Memória (the first words) and then only a tiny little voice crack would come out and she would shake her head and try again with another deep breath. Tears were welled up in her eyes. Her hands were shaking. I’m sure her heart was beating out of her chest. It was awful. I wanted to save her. I wanted to sing it for her. But I couldn’t do a damn thing except stand there and pray that eventually a word would come out. And eventually it did. After three minutes of silence, all eyes on her, she got out the first word, then the first line, then the entire song. The other students whispered and laughed and snickered and giggled through the entire thing. It was painful. My heart went out to her. If the chefe told me to do what she did, I would likely resort to faking a seizure. 

There are a lot of infuriating things about this situation. The damn hino is 5 minutes long because the chorus is sung through twice between each verse (that’s three verses and 6 choruses). That means we wasted so. much. time singing that damn hino. 35 minutes of class time over three days. The chefe says “we have to get this right because it’s our obligation to honor our country every day.” Blah blah blah I say that's complete bullshit. When the student passing rate on national exams is SIX PERCENT, there are other things we should be doing to honor our county. Like sending our students to class and helping them learn. 

Besides that, as educators it is our responsibility to do everything we can to ensure that our students gain knowledge when they come to school. In order to preform well in the classroom, kids need confidence. This poor girl, after being laughed at and humiliated for 5 minutes straight, isn’t going to learn a damn thing when she gets to class. She has just been torn down in the worst way. She’s going to walk into class with self-doubt, wondering every time somebody talks or laughs whether or not it’s about her. She's going to wonder when the day is going to end so that she can curl up in her room and cry. She will not hear, let alone assimilate, a single thing I, or any other teacher says to her that day. 

So now she will probably never miss another word of the Mozambican National Anthem between now and the day she dies. But will she learn today? Probably not. Tomorrow? Probably not. Hopefully by next week some other student will do something ridiculous that everyone will start talking about and she will be back to her normal self, sans spotlight. I just really hope that when another student takes on that girl’s embarrassment burden, we as teachers and school administrators have nothing to do with it.

Students are Good

This whole time I’ve been writing about how I was really annoyed at showing up to school every day for over a week and not being able to teach. And that’s the truth—it was annoying (as you can probably imagine). But each time I learned that I wouldn’t be teaching today I also felt extremely relieved. I was more than a little nervous to teach my first class. Me, standing up in front of 50 students, speaking the same level of Portuguese these students were 10 years ago. I know a lot about math, but how would they trust that I know my shit if I can’t speak the language properly? Would they laugh at me? Would they even listen to me? I didn’t know what to expect or how defensive I would need to be about my level of Portuguese, my knowledge of math, or my ability to teach them well. 

So I walk into my first class, and they stand up greet me: Bom Dia Senhora Professora. And I greet them and they sit down. First, I gave the basic rules of my classroom: 

When I am talking, you are not talking.

If I see or hear your telephone, the first time I will keep it in my backpack for the entire class. The second time, I will keep it with me for the entire morning. The third time, you will not get it back until the next day. 

No cheating. If I catch you cheating I will rip up your work and you will receive a zero. You will not have a chance to explain. 

If I need help with Portuguese you will help me without laughing at me.

When I asked if they had any questions, they said no. I elaborated further about the last one, because I was nervous about it and I wanted them to understand as best they could the situation. I asked them how long they had been learning English. They said 5 years. I asked them if they would be able to come to the front of the class and give a lesson in English to their peers. They all laughed and said no way. I started speaking in English, asking them (in English) if they would be able to understand me if I taught all the math lessons this year in English. They erupted in laughter and after they simmered down, they replied no. I switched back to Portuguese and told them that I started learning Portuguese in September of 2015. They were all quiet for a moment. When I clarified that that was only 5 months ago, guess what they did.

They applauded me. The entire class. When they became quiet again one student stood up and told me that he thinks I speak very well and they can understand what I’m saying. When I asked again if they could agree to helping me when I needed help instead of laughing, they replied yes in unison. We moved on, and so far I have not had any problems. 

Aside from students occasionally helping me with words, or telling me when an article should be feminine instead of masculine, or repeating a word for me with the emphasis on the correct syllable, my students have proven to me in just two weeks that they are kind-hearted.

One day, there was no eraser in the room, so I started using my handkerchief to erase. I hadn’t realized a student left until he came back with an eraser. He put it on the desk quietly, and signaled for me to use that instead. During the break he took my handkerchief somewhere and washed it for me. He told me next time I should ask for an eraser so I didn’t dirty my cloth. I said thank you. A small gesture, but very kind. 

If I call on a student who doesn’t know the answer, nobody laughs. Another student will stand up and answer correctly, as to help save face of the other. I never push it and always thank the student who stands up and gives the right answer.

After class today, one student came up to me and told me I was doing a good job. They said other professors “don’t give us much information” but “we are learning from you”. So far, I don’t think my time here in Mozambique has produced a better moment.

MINI-FESTA!!!!!!!

Today I introduced the incentive system I plan to try out during the first trimester. Here’s what it is:

I have a 400ml-sized tupperware container for each of my classes (four). My dad’s girlfriend (for lack of a better term) sent me beads in a care package— lots and lots of beads. I have made a list of “good things” and “bad things”. When my classes do “good things”, they earn beads in the jar. When my classes do “bad things”, I remove earned beads from the jar. Here is pretty much how the dialogue went today:

Me: To finish the class today, I will introduce a new incentive system. Does anyone know what an incentive system is?

Class: *silence*

Me: It’s a way for me to motivate you to do well during class. We will participate in it together. Here I have a tijela (tupperware). I also have missangas (beads). When you guys do something that I like, I will put a beat in the tupperware. When you do something that I don’t like, I will remove a bead from the tupperware. Here are the ways you can earn beads or lose beads:

Earn beads by:

If a person scores a 19 or 20 (out of 20) on a test. 

If less than two people arrive to class late.

If the entire class brings their homework.

If I only have to ask for a volunteer one time.

If somebody memorizes the greek alphabet and recites it in front of the entire class.

Lose beads by:

Coming to school dressed inappropriately.

If I have to ask for silence more than one time.

If I catch you cheating on homework or a test.

If more than 5 people don’t show up to class at all.

If I ask for an answer “in your own words” and you use my words.

[note at this point they were seeing where I was going with this and I had their complete attention. They laughed when I named the ways to lose a bead because they all knew they were guilty of doing those things. I’m glad my list resonated with them.]

Me (still): At this point are there any questions?

Class: [jumping out of their seats needing to hear more about this whole “incentive system” like, right now] Não

Me: When the jar is filled up with beads, 

we will...

have a….

MINI-FESTA (small party)!!!!!!!! I will bring cake and refreshments (aka Fanta) and we will listen to music and dance for the entire class period. No learning, just fun.

AND THE CROWD. GOES. WILD. 

Seriously: applause, hooting, hollering, the whole bit. Probably a solid two minutes. I asked them to quiet down and asked if they had any questions. They said no. They were so excited. I told them that they would have to work hard to earn their party, that I wouldn’t just give it to them. They said they understood.

As I was leaving, I heard them talking to each other about studying for the test that will be given next Friday. They wanted to earn some beads. Already, it's working.