Today was my second day teaching. Since there is a teacher absent due to an in-service training (held during the first two weeks of school – WHAT THE HELL?!), I am teaching eight periods straight without being able to take my allotted two free periods for rest and/or prep. I am exhausted, stressed and angry. The exhaustion will pass when the absent teacher returns. The stress will pass as time goes on and I get used to teaching and used to my learners. But the anger – the anger is at the Namibian Ministry of Education. How in the world can you possibly expect these kids to give a crap about school when they only need a 30% score to pass a class?! What in the world is going on here?! Low expectations bring low results. I looked at the grades of these kids from last year….it was rare to see anything above a C. In the U.S., a C is 70-79%, not something to be proud of. But here, a D is 30% and a C is 40%! To pass a class, you must get a D. This is unreal. I mean, they told us this at training, but that was when I was in my safe zone and had no idea how difficult teaching would be. Now that I'm in class during the day, facing children whose only goal is to get 30% in each class…it is appalling. Hello, reality. This is going to be the toughest thing that I ever do. I know it. And I plan to live a long time. Unbelievable.
Why did I come here? Can I really make a difference in this country? Why is it that I was able to make it through high school and on through college? It's not because I'm American. My oldest host brother Otjiwarongo is in his third year of college. My younger host brother passed the grade 10 national exam with flying colors and plans to go to college in South Africa to study mineralogy. And my little host sister wants to be a doctor. What is the difference between these kids and the kids I am teaching now in Noordoewer? The parents. My host mother would not allow her children to not do their homework. She and her husband don't make a ton of money but they paid higher school fees so that their kids could attend a "white school" (which, not surprisingly, is much better than a black school). When my brother did so well on the national exam, they had a party. The parents of my learners, for the most part, could not give a flying fig if their kids do well in school or not. And why should they? In Noordoewer, where I am living and working, you will find a shebeen (a bar) for every fifteen or twenty houses. I am not exaggerating. You can't throw a stick around here and not hit a shebeen. But how about toys? Or books? Or crayons or paper airplanes or art or anything else to spark the imagination, for goodness sake?! No. You just drink til the sun comes up, and when it comes up you drink some more. I am not kidding! I have seen this with my own eyes. I saw it today. Some people work, and some don't, but it doesn't matter. Alcoholism is a problem here. So what we have is parental apathy, horrifically low educational standards set by the government itself, and no reason in sight to do well in school. Under these circumstances, would you push yourself to study hard? No. I probably wouldn't either. So why in the world am I here?
What drives me up the wall even further is that I at any minute, I could pick up my phone and call the Peace Corps office and tell them I want to go home. Within 48 hours I would be home safe and sound. What is stopping me? What keeps me here? Me. I'm sorry. But it's true. I know that I can make a difference here, but if you want to know the truth, the difference that I will eventually make here is so small, so miniscule that I can't claim any compassionate reason to stay. I'm here for myself. At this point, even so early in the game, if I ever do end up making a speck of difference, it will be a bonus. Don't get me wrong. I am not going to stop trying. I just know that the problems in the system here would require some kind of educational revolution of sorts, or a complete and total overhaul, and being that I am here under very strict guidelines and restrictions (forbidden to discuss politics, drive a car or ride in the back of a truck, etc.) I have no way of making that happen. If I were to speak out, I'd be sent home; even if I were to speak out, let's remember that Namibia only earned its independence in 1990. It is still an incredibly young country, and when America was 18 years old, were we thriving and flourishing? I am going to do what I can with what I have and hope that some day, in the future of one of my learners' lives, I will have inspired him or her to just try a little harder and make that learner know that he or she is capable of whatever accomplishment is desired. That is all I can do.
In the meantime, I will continue to go through a rollercoaster of emotions while I try to teach my kids. In about an hour, after I wake up from my nap, I'll look in the mirror and feel proud of being a PCV. I'll feel like I'm on top of the world. Then I'll be homesick for my mom. Then I'll be excited about the first school term being over so that I can travel around the country with my friends. If you think a pregnant woman is moody, you've never been a PCV before. But then again, I've never been pregnant before.
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