I wanted to be a teacher when I was a bright as a button
first grader but by the end of primary school after I’d watched every episode
of the original Superman on the old black and white telie, my role model
switched from the lovely Miss Lamb to that gutsy newspaperwoman, Lois Lane.
So I am finding myself way out of my depth and floundering,
like a swimmer caught in a current, in the classrooms at Asi-Daahey as a
volunteer English teacher.
First off we all meet the irrepressible Grandpa, the
78-year-old Headmaster who welcomes us to his school and decides we would be
most useful sharpening the students’ command of English. He introduces Beth and
me to teacher Sarah who gives us the low-down on the lesson plans.
Now here I am in Grade 4 with a dozen shiny brown faces and
huge eyes staring at me expectantly. So I reach for The Little Red Hen. The
story is perhaps meant for younger children so I decide to lift the game by
exploring the moral issues, quizzing them about the book’s meaning and
introducing the big new word ‘consequences’.
I must admit my philosophical discussion of the consequences
of actions is going down like a lead balloon. But we all agree it’s good to
help each other in the village, especially if you want the rewards of nice warm
bread!
I’m on a roll, so I unleash my other prized resource, The
Very Hungry Caterpillar and the kids are mightily impressed with his voracious
appetite but even more thrilled when he turns into a resplendent butterfly. The
mystery and hope of metamorphosis inspires humans of any age and any culture!
Now the children teach me their language, Dangbe. They seize
the one tiny piece of chalk and give a brilliant lesson. But the real teacher
has arrived and I hand the class over to him and move on to Grade One.
Stunningly beautiful teacher Georgina invites me to help the
children practise their letters. Then I do my star turn with that greedy
binge-eater again and the children giggle with delight at the holes in the book
and count aloud all the foods he munches through!
But the most joyous response comes from the three-year-olds
in the nursery who clap their hands, shriek and cheer with every item the
caterpillar devours. Wow! What an appreciative audience! But the whole
story-telling session goes belly up when I stupidly give a child the book to
look at expecting him to pass it to the next child!
I have forgotten that three-year-olds have not yet learnt
the concept of sharing and my determined little friend is hanging on to the
precious book with all his might and refusing the release it. Oh dear! What
have I done! So I just make it worse but giving The Little Red Hen to another
child and now he’s clutching it close to his little chest and kicking anyone
who tries to swipe it!
I look around the barren classroom to see if there are any
storybooks and there are none. I give the two books to teacher Christine, a
patient old Mama, and she stashes them away in a safe place.
And now for a photo session but the toddlers don’t want to
share the spotlight in a group shot. They all insist on individual mug shots
and giggle with glee to see themselves on the little screen.
More pushing and shoving over possession of the camera! It
predictably ends in tears and builds to sobbing and wailing so I wrap my arms
around one distraught little chap and soothe him with rocking and whispering
“shh, shh, shh” and he melts and calms down, soaking up the affection.
The little Ghanaian children are adorable. Some of the tiny
boys look like mini-men; pint-size adults with their perfectly formed facial
features and the little girls with their fuzzy heads or rows of tight braids
and beaming smiles of snow white teeth are so pretty! And they jump like little
monkeys! They launch at you from all directions and wrap their legs around your
waist or grab onto a leg, eager for cuddles. All the volunteers, with their
maternal juices flowing, have fallen in love with the irresistible children!
Asi-Daahey school starts from nursery and goes up to Junior
High but some of the students are strapping teens of 17, even 18. Set up in
1999 on the far-flung south-eastern coast, it now has about 200 students.
Madventurer supports the school with funding, and volunteers
are assisting local skilled tradesmen to build massive dormitories to house
orphans and abandoned children, who are assimilated with the other students.
Parents pay modest fees as the school receives no government funding.
All the children eat a hot lunch and today us volunteers
join the teachers for bean stew served with scoops of coarse, dry grain that
tastes to me like saw dust. My naïve plan to introduce the school children to
yummy, nutritious lentil burgers is fading fast. It seems the simple menu is set
for every day of the week without deviation.
After lunch students are training on the rough field for
Athletics. Not being particularly sporty, Beth and I chat with some inquisitive
13-year-old girls who want to know all about life in England, our jobs and
families and they are desperately keen for stationery, even my business cards!
Back at the MAD house, I want to conjure up some guacamole
but the humble vegetable store out front doesn’t have avocadoes or very much at
all for that matter so I buy some tomatoes, garlic, onions and tomato paste and
make some salsa dip and crackers for everyone.
The rest of the volunteers, Aussie chick, Krystel, tall,
blonde trainee nurse Grace and the youngest of the group, 17-year-old school
girl from Wales, Kara and our two lads, wise-cracking Sam and sensitive James
who are doing Business degrees, all return from a riotous trip away so our
numbers swell to a very full MAD House with 14 of us sleeping in bunks in two
bedrooms.
I whip up an omelette for the vegetarians on a little gas
stove in the dark hallway and the rest of the hungry mob tuck into something
completely different, chicken and rice!
It seems that in poor communities when something breaks it
stays broken. There is a real need for handymen out here! The water and
electricity can go off at any time for no apparent reason. I suspect the
authorities ration water and power supply and turn it one and off throughout
the day.
Tonight the water is off. Grace and I are rostered to wash
the dishes in plastic tubs outside in the dark yard. Excited about throwing the
bucket down the well to fetch some water, something I’ve never done before, I
accidentally let go of the rope and it lands at the bottom of the well! Clever
Elizabeth uses a long metal pole to hook the rope and ease it up the wall then
lanky Grace leans in and grabs it, with much applause and cheers!
The dedicated volunteers sit around preparing exercise books
for the kids’ lessons tomorrow, laughing and shrieking at their drawing efforts
and singing along to some pop songs I’ve never heard. I am the oldie in the
group but feel accepted as part of the MAD adventure!
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