Having even the slightest idea how cleaning days at my school work is a sure sign that I am beginning to understand teaching in Sierra Leone. Almost every Thursday afternoon is devoted to cleaning the school compound. The first time I witnessed the school cleaning was one of the more uncomfortable experiences I’ve had here (which is saying something.) I stood awkwardly watching students pull weeds and use cutlasses to hack away at the wilderness which was encroaching in the school compound. The other teachers made a student bring a chair for me so I could sit down and watch the work in comfort. I felt extremely lazy and ineffectual sitting there doing nothing as the students worked.
I will never enjoy cleaning days, but as time passes I have begun to appreciate them for what they are. I tend to think now that I was incredibly spoiled to have a janitor clean my school for me while growing up. Who did I think was going to do the school maintenance here if the students didn’t do the work? Besides, there are benefits to giving students the responsibility for keeping their school clean; it gives them a different king of appreciation for their education by instilling them with a sense of ownership for the school. Cleaning days can also be fun if you go in with the right attitude. Maybe it’s a bit like when I was in high school and we had red/gold days at CSG…(minus the hot apple cider and donuts, naturally.)
On one particular Thursday, the principal decided to cancel school for the entire day so the students could go brush a field about a mile from our village, where he hoped to build a new school. “Brushing” entails hacking down trees with cutlasses and tearing up the patches of tall spiky grass. The atmosphere was cheerful as we set off along the road to the field. Only I and one other teacher decided to accompany the students on the brushing outing. Since I’m not particularly intimidating (or adept at brushing for that matter), the other teacher took charge of making sure the students were working. I spent my time wandering around chatting with some of the girls who thought it was hysterical that I was willing to join them in tearing a few weeds out of the rocky rust-colored soil. They were also amused that I was concerned by the fact that one of my JSS I boys thought it was a good idea to climb to the top of a tree that was in the process of being cut down. (In case like me you find that worrisome, you will be happy to hear that the child did not fall to his death.)
By lunch time, everyone was hot and tired and ready to go back to the school where some of the JSS III girls were preparing bulgur with sauce. The other teacher took a bicycle back so he could go check to see if the cooking was underway, but I walked with the students. The procession of one hundred or so youth walking in unevenly spaced clusters trailed out along the highway. Behind me, some of the students began shouting.
“What’s going on?” I asked, turning back towards the shouts.
“They’re throwing stones. Let’s go quick!” Kadiatu Swaray, one of my JSS II students who was walking beside me answered.
Apparently, the students had found one of the mentally ill men in our village walking along the road. This particular man has a reputation for being prone to violence, but he keeps to himself as long as people do not disturb him. I can only imagine the numerous things a group of adolescent boys might have said to provoke the man, but whatever happened, the man began hurling rocks at the students. In retaliation, the students picked up stones of their own to throw. I sensed the situation was quickly escalating as the chorus of shouts grew louder and rocks flew through the air.
“Quick, let’s go!” Kadiatu urged me again, her voice full of concern. She was right, it is better to avoid the mob than to confront it, but I could not stand by and allow my students to stone a mentally ill man. I ignored her and strode back towards the fight.
I grabbed the arm of the boy nearest to me – Abu Bakar Bockarie – whose hands were full of stones.
“Don’t throw them,” I said. Abu Bakar has the reputation for being a troublemaker, but he is also intelligent and has been a perfect angel in my class ever since I helped him avoid a flogging from father. (The flogging was regarding an incident when the boy was innocent for once, so I wrote a letter on his behalf.)
“Don't throw them?” Abu Bakar asked.
“Yes, what you are doing is very bad. You cannot throw stones at a crazy man,” I scolded him.
Abu Bakar dropped the stones quickly, as if he had suddenly realized that he had a snake in his hand. He looked stricken for a moment, afraid of the disappointment in my voice. However, he quickly rallied and began marching around to the other students and yelling at them to stop throwing stones. I then sought out the school prefects in the crowd so they could help me restore order. I breathed a sigh of relief when the last students abandoned their stones.
I realized that my students did not fully understand why I was upset that they were throwing rocks at a man whose “head don flop.” They could not understand why I was always quick to defend the mentally ill from taunts, laughter, or violence. However, my students knew I was disappointed in their behavior, and for some reason that was enough to make them stop.
