“What topic do you want to debate?” I asked my JSS III students. Blank stares.
“Do you want me to pick for you?”
“Yes Ma!” fifteen voices chorus. I found that “Yes Ma” more discouraging than the dark overcrowded classrooms, the racked chalkboards, or the noise from multiple classes being held in a single room. I had just finished lecturing my JSS III students (who range in age from 15 to 20) on the importance of thinking for themselves, but as soon as I ask for their opinion, they look at me like I’m crazy. If trying to force independent thought makes you insane, then their assumptions about me are correct.
“Okay, I’ll pick the topic, but remember, the point of debating is to convince people that your own opinion is correct. I can’t give you the answers when we debate. You can’t assume I’m right just because I’m your teacher. I want to know what you think.”
I told them that they would debate whether money or education is more important. We reviewed what - according to Salone’s national teaching syllabus - is the proper procedure for a debate, then we began to outline the points of the argument. At first the students were hesitant to give their opinions, but finally one boy, Mohamed, told me money was better than education.
“Okay. Why?”
“It is the key of the world.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you need money to eat, to educate, to buy cars,” Isata explained.
“Good. Raise your hand if you agree that money is better.”
All hands shot into the air. “Very good. I disagree, so you all have to debate against me.” I have never been so thrilled to have students argue with me. By the end of class, we had not finished the debate, so the students told me they wanted to come after Friday prayers (Friday is the Muslim holy day, so we don’t have school) to continue practicing. The students are supposed to present their debate to the school next Thursday.
Yesterday afternoon, I showed up at the school as promised, but only one student was there. “Are the others coming?”
“Yes, they will come,” Umara said. I knew right away that it was a “yes” just because he was afraid to tell me "no." I swallowed my frustration and disappointment and promised myself not to give up too easily. A girl from my JSS I class happened to be passing by the school, so the three of us decided to walk around and survey the wreckage of the primary school.
All day on Thursday, the students and teachers at the primary school had been constructing the school. Even the headmistress was working, mixing mud with her bare hands to build the school walls. During the night, the school collapsed. I looked at the wreckage of building sadly.
“Let all the parents come and they can work to rebuild it. If everyone comes together we can fix it in two or three weeks,” Umara said optimistically.
“When did they start building it?”
“February 2010,” he replied with a grim smile.
“Almost two years for nothing!” my other student, Lucinda, says.
But at least the school collapsed in the night and not during classes. At least no one was hurt. Optimism is a valuable commodity.
