A Collection of Thoughts and Events from 2/12/11–3/1/11

Part 1: The Borehole

Today I teamed up with our Head Teacher to go to Pallisa and investigate why the school has yet to receive a borehole. A borehole is essentially a well where water is brought to the surface via a large hand pump. It’s how almost all villagers collect their water.

One year ago, Kamuge High School was promised a borehole from the local government. To date, they have yet to receive one. A borehole costs 18,000,000 shillings, around $8,200 at current exchange rates. The community was tasked with raising a contribution of 200,000 shillings, about $90. This was basically all funded via the school’s own annual budget. I was told that it would be very difficult for the Kamuge community at large to raise this sum of money. So the school just decided to front the money since they had it. Side note: the ministry funds the school, so this is government money going back to the government, interesting.

Anyways, we still don’t have one, a borehole, that is. I went to the local water council today with Mr. Bulolo and we were told that we had been allocated a borehole to our school almost a year ago. However, all the allocations have to be approved by the local government. We were told that because of “politics”, our borehole had been diverted to another community. Their recommendation for us was to literally “be patient”. “I am praying for your patience.” The water councilman tells us. We shook hands and walked out.

I had been meaning to have this meeting for a few weeks now. And it’s quite a big letdown that there is basically nothing we can do but sit and wait. As we were driving away, my Head Teacher explained to me, “You see, we come here, they cannot do anything for us. I go back to our community, and the community members all blame me. I come back here and these people blame the local government. It’s one big game.” I told him we could not give up and we needed to keep being persistent. My Head Teacher makes a good effort, he even tried to get some interest paid to us from the 200,000 we had already contributed a year ago! I asked him if there was any way the community could raise the 18,000,000 shillings and just buy the thing privately, he laughed.

The big man himself, my Head Teacher

Kamuge High School is by no means suffering. There are several other boreholes nearby (1 or 2 km). This one would just make life a little bit easier for those that live and work at the school. It’s a unique challenge, one that I will keep thinking of ways to solve. I may be here awhile.

The last thing I want to do is donate one to the community. After living here and witnessing the corrosive effects of the dependency created by a donor culture, I’m staunchly against almost all money coming into this country. I’m glad Peace Corps is not a donor organization. We are different…somehow.

Part 2: A Closer Look at Rural Education

The progression of dedicated lesson time at my school is very interesting. As a student graduates to the next level (S1, S2, S3, or S4), he or she is most likely going to receive both more lessons and more lesson time from the various teachers operating at Kamuge High.

S4s are the highest priority by far. They almost always have a teacher in their classroom and they usually attend extra lessons after regular classes and on the weekends. The reason for this is because they are preparing for the largest, most comprehensive, most determinative exams of their lives.

The S4s having a lesson after hours in around 98 degree heat

In late October and into November, they will sit these exams. Each subject has a separate exam. Most secondary students take around 8-10 different subjects. The exams can have anywhere from one to three separate papers, and each paper lasts about two hours. All told, these students are basically taking tests for six hours a day for two weeks. It is a ridiculous amount of knowledge and testing to postpone until the last year of education and I highly respect any of the students who manage to do “well” on all of them.

The S3s get more attention than the S2s and S1s because they are going to be S4s next year and need to start preparing early. The S2s and S1s suffer the most from this imbalance. The S1s are lucky if they have one lesson during the entire day. Many of them are still struggling with their English skills and can’t understand the teacher at the front of the room. How frustrating as a student! School was hard enough in my mother tongue, I can’t imagine learning in a different language.

What a back row S2 student sees

For the poor and under resourced schools of Uganda, the strategy is basically to pummel the S4s into oblivion with knowledge during their last year in the last desperate hope that something will stick and at least a few will attain that Division 1 score. For the rest of the school, it is do what you can, when you can. I’ve stopped teaching S1s because they cannot understand my accent or English.

This term I am teaching S4 mathematics, S3 physics, and S2 mathematics. I’ve been with the current S4s for three terms now and have developed a really good rapport with many of them. I know the good students. I know the ones that continue to try the hardest and just may succeed. I know the jokesters and the flippant.

Keeping track of students here is extremely difficult. They’re all extremely soft spoken. I can barely hear them talk when they’re standing right next to me. They all have the exact same buzz haircut (even the girls). They are all wearing the exact same uniform. They all basically have the same skin tone. Though some are lighter or darker than others.

This can be an obstacle to teachers. If we need to find a particular student for any reason, it is often times difficult. And even if that very student is in the room, it usually takes several minutes to locate them. Moreover, many students are constantly transferring in and out of our school. This makes for a lot of new and even more unrecognizable faces.

These new students understandably share no unity or solidarity with the rest of the student population. Often times they come from a different tribe and thus speak a different language. At the really great schools in Uganda, the students interact in English, but here they all speak in “vernacular” as the teachers call it. This makes communication difficult amongst new and diverse students.

Yesterday we had another random “pop” assembly at our school lasting one hour. I sat there in the background as various teachers spoke, staring at the smartest students who chose to stand at the front of the crowd with their Barack Obama belt buckles and engaged expressions. The whole time I’m just thinking about how much time we’re wasting and robbing from the students education. I accept the frustration, forget it, and listen on.

Part 3: KAF Guest House

There are some interesting characters at KAF Guest House. I’m a regular here. Men come here to relax during the hottest parts of the days. Some of them drink soda. Others drink beer. Others drink Waragi (Uganda’s own brand of disgusting liquor) straight or mixed with some brand of soda.

Women come too. But they are few and far between. The employees that work here are all women, attractive women. There is a mzee (old man) that owns the place usually lurking around behind the scenes. I’ve never been too fond of him. But the girls who work here are a delight. And they know me.

Inside the KAF Guest House

The men sit with their respective beverages and stare into the empty, dry, hot air. Some of them nod off for an afternoon nap, while sitting. When power is available, the blaring sound of music videos offers no semblance of peace within a 50-foot radius. I’ve learned to power through and focus my concentration despite the barrage of noise.

You walk in some days and its as if the place is closed, yet open. Nobody is around and the employees are blending in somewhere on the perimeter of the room or of the…well…perimeter. Men storm in and tap or bang their keys and knuckles on the bar demanding service. “You bring me a beer.” They demand quick customer service. Interesting to witness considering this is a country largely without any sense of urgency.

Some men converse in Ateso or Lugwere about the day’s events or “struggling somehow”. Some of them look at me with controlled excitement. Just waiting for me to look at them or say something. Every time I come here I get some comment regarding what I’m taking (drinking) that day, usually a cold 300ml bottle of Coca-Cola classic. I ordered a Senator (one of Uganda’s cheapest and finest Extra Lagers) the other day and one man was astonished. “I thought you take only soda.” He says.

When there is power, this place serves as a nice haven to complete work on my laptop with access to decent internet. Lately though, the mzee has been asking me to foot a small portion of his power bill, claiming it has increased significantly since I started coming here. That may be the case, but considering I come here once maybe twice a week for a few hours, I doubt I am the main cause of his establishment’s increase in power usage.

It’s quiet here now. Patrons sit and relax and let the heat pour over their exhausted sticky bodies. I take another drink of Senator and lean back into the soft, sinking, felt cushions of my lounge chair while contemplating what I’ll do next.