Give me a brick

“Give me a block,” I say to Joseph Tucker, one of my form III students, indicating that he should help me lift the heavy mud brick onto my head.

“No, Miss Kenley, please,” he says staring at me in horror, as if I have just suggested something completely awful.

To tell the truth, my request is somewhat at odds with cultural norms. I’m a teacher and carrying mud bricks is decidedly beneath me – or so I’m told. I know we are not supposed to work alongside the students on the work days, but I also know that as a foreigner I will often be forgiven to bending the cultural norms.

“I’m going to work too. I don’t like watching while other people work,” I say with a laugh to lighten the mood. Joseph, still looking slightly doubtful, lifts the brick onto my head. The form two girls who I am walking with, however, are thrilled. Salamatu Injai, Mariama Moijue, and Mbalu Kpaka are all struggling academically, but outside of the classroom I can appreciate their personalities. As we work and talk in Krio, I am able to see an intelligent side to these girls that was never tapped by the education system.

We have to walk nearly a mile with the bricks from Tuba to the school. They are heavy enough that I strain to lift one in my hands for even a minute, but on my head, the weight settles over my whole body. Sweat drips down my face and my neck begins to ache by the time we reach New Site, but I am still glad to be working. The women in my village are also pleased to see my toting bricks. They greet me with huge smiles and thanks in Mende. The teachers think I am breaking the rules of social standing, but the women are glad to see those rules broken. It means I am one of them.

Mariam, a volunteer from the NGO Restless Development who teaches at my school, sees me working with the students and decides to join us as well. She grew up in Freetown and is as unaccustomed to carrying loads on her head as I am, but if I can break the rules, so can she. When we get to Tuba for the third time, Joseph Tucker greets us with a smile. “Good, we like this when teachers work.” I’m glad we have won him over.

Having already walked nearly seven miles, we decide to rest in the shade for awhile before returning with the final blocks. Realizing how dehydrated I am, I ask one of my students who lives in Tuba to bring me water. I trust that he will give me the most sanitary water available, but when it comes down to it , I fear thirst more than giardia. After gulping down the water gratefully, I hand the cup to another student so she can drink as well.

We set out at last with the blocks on our heads. The sun burns hot and dry. Everyone has forgotten how strange they thought my behavior was a few hours earlier. I too have forgotten that I am a foreigner and this is not my native land.

But it's simple...

Teaching is a constant battle against boredom and frustration – particularly when the subject is math. Most of my students put forth some effort when I’m teaching language arts, but at least two thirds of the class shuts down mentally as soon as I start writing numbers on the board. They have somehow been conditioned to think mathematics is an impossible subject that is fully beyond their realm of understanding. This is an outlook that I am constantly fighting. I have tried every manner of getting them to believe they can learn simple math. I tell them I hated math as a kid, but now enjoy it. I try to market topics as “easy” or “fun.” But let’s face it; they know it’s all a charade. Math is difficult – particularly if you were never taught basic addition and subtraction. I’m never going to convince my students that math is simple, but I still try.

“How many of you like language arts?” I ask as a walk into form III.

“All of us.” Good answer.

“Well, today what we are going to learn in math will be simple as long as you know how to read. If you like language, you will like this math.”

Chatter. Fidgeting, Fighting over a pen. (Eh bo! Gimme di pen bo!) They’re clearly not going for my selling point. I forge ahead anyway. 

The topic of the lesson is using proportions. My goal is not even to reach the actual math, but simply to get students to thinks about what problems are asking. 

“It takes three students ten minutes to sweep the compound. How long will it take six students?”

“Thirty minutes!”

“One hour!”

“Six minutes!” 

I beg them to stop shouting random numbers and pay attention. First, I just want them to tell me if there are more students will it take more or less time to do the work. I am trying to slow down my teaching to make things clear. I try not to think about the public exam looming in the near future; it doesn’t matter if I manage to cover all the material. What matters is that the students understand what I teach them. I know this in theory, but I still lack patience. If they would only listen to me… I think, trying to push down the rising frustration.

Then one of the students chimes in: “Oh, but this is simple today. Yesterday I did not listen to anything you said.”

I wonder if my students will ever pick up on the correlation between actually listening to what I am saying and understanding the material . . .