The Value of Genuine Love and Support

Since arriving in Uganda I have slowly integrated into my community, not only at site, but also with my host family, Peace Corps Staff and fellow volunteers, and the other teachers. For the last three months I have been trying to figure out what Ugandans really value in their children. In America, this is easy to see; We display school pictures or pictures from vacations on the walls in our houses and offices at work, we hang perfect quizzes and tests on the fridge, we put trophies on the bookshelf, and we talk incessantly about how amazing and talented our children are compares to their peers in class or on the soccer field. We even give them feedback on all that they do to show them how much we care about them and how proud we are, no matter what their latest test score is or how many points they scored in last night's game. In America, we show our endless love and support through hugs, kisses, talking around the dinner table, and even showing interest in other activities. I often wonder if we smother our children in America. Presently, all little league players, soccer players, etc receive trophies at the end of the season so we tell our kids that they are ALL winners no matter what. When they lose, do they lose too much of their self esteem? Some do, I'm sure. We tell our kids they are going to be President one day or be the next Einstein. For some kids, this is true, but certainly not all of them. I'm all for supporting each and every child, but sometimes it gets to be too much. There's got to be some balance and honesty thrown into the mix. Regardless, my stay in Uganda hasn't shown me that parents or even the communities truly value and hold pride for their children at all.

In my Homestay house there were only pictures of my host mother all over the walls. At my school, there are no displays of student work anywhere. Instead, they are told they are not "smart"--in Uganda this usually means well dressed, but can sometimes refer to intelligence-- if their school uniform is not perfectly clean or their hair is not completely shaved. Instead of a teacher calling a name of pupil for help, they simply yell "YOU!", clap a few times, and demand the pupil to fetch whatever it is they desire. Sometimes this even includes making the pupil leave school to go get fruit or a chapati in the town. Worst of all, there are parents who, instead of buying enough food to feed their children during the week, save their money to go to the clubs over the weekends. So I wonder, what gives? A prime example from this week goes as follows:

In my quest to create a successful and fun D.E.A.R. Day (Drop Everything and Read) at my school, I have given a complete rundown in a staff meeting about what it may look like. I have motivated my fellow teachers to create activities with each of their classes, which has been exciting because they have actually all been on board with putting a lot of work into their ideas and the ideas of their pupils (hallelujah!). Some classes are presenting stories written by pupils, some are doing plays from local stories they've read, and my own P4 colleagues have come up with the idea to do a "beauty contest" in which all of the contestants must read well and answer a few questions. I was thrilled to hear my counterpart tell me of the class plans for DEAR Day, I had visions of a panel of pupils to judge and ask their own questions, the contestants would answer and the talent portion would allow for reading, singing, or even rapping. However, my heart sank when I watched a run through of the skit this week.  They take the word "beauty" very seriously here in Uganda (at least at my school) and so the teachers only chose the "most pretty girls" in class. This was only the beginning. Next, the teachers chose the pupils to be the judges and instructed them to ask the question "Why are you here today?" If the contestants did not answer exactly, "My name is ______. I am here today to participate in the beauty contest", then they were 1) laughed at, 2) told to sit down, and 3) given a score of zero. Not one of the contestants had a chance to memorize the prompt, so all received scores of zero and laughed at as they took their seats. My frustration during this practice was building by the second. I had to excuse myself. In retrospect, maybe I should have added my input right away; told them that each contestant can have a correct answer even if it's not the exact one provided by the teacher. That, as a P4 group, we need to stick together and support one another.

I have since made my thoughts known and shown a lesson that proved it really possible to give positive feedback, control a class of 60+ pupils, and still keep the respect of my kids. After my lesson there was a time for the teachers who came to observe (all but two showed up! another score) to ask me questions or state what they had observed during my lesson. I was ecstatic when a few commented on how I never "turned color" when pupils weren't participated or gave a wrong answer, and I didn't put down those same wrong answers. They also noticed the amount of wait time I gave after asking questions...none of which were yes or no questions, but instead WHY questions. And one more, they noticed that I kept the pupils engaged for an entire hour without making them write down a single note (their minds were blown). While I'm happy for their positive feedback, I had to wonder if I was trying to encourage too much change. I talked of why I did these things in the way I did, including acknowledging all answers, right or wrong. I talked about encouraging students to think outside the box when answering questions and working TOGETHER with pupils, not just throwing out demands or insults because it will only make pupils cower and hesitate to raise their hand to answer their questions in the future.

But, am I disturbing their way of life and teaching? In a way I am, but the Peace Corps goals have us exchange and promote a better understanding of Americans on Host Country Nationals (HCNs), and to help promote a better understanding of the host country on the part of Americans. In my heart I know I am doing what's best for these kids. They need an adult on their side to advocate for their needs, not only in school, but at home as well. They are why I am here, and they are the reason I don't feel completely useless at the end of some days here. We have a long road ahead of us to create a positive school environment for these kids, but I'm determined and happy that most of the teachers at my school are wanting to make this big change too. Here's to creating new beginnings and making the changes to empower the children at St. Gregory Primary School, and throughout Uganda as well. It's their time.

Homestay Living

Glow stick party on my last night!

This short and sweet post about homestay is long overdue considering I’ve already sworn in as an official PCV and I’ve been at site for almost a month already. I’ve wanted to talk about my experiences with my Homestay family. Heading from FSV to the language training satellite in Mityana (a trip that should have only taken about four hours…this time it took seven). It was my first time taking public transit completely on my own. I spent the entire ride clutching my two bags, one of which was slashed. Thankfully nothing was missing. I listened to the locals casually talking throughout the ride, occasionally hearing the word Muzungu* thrown in the mix, knowing they were talking about me somehow. I found myself thinking that I couldn’t wait to begin learning the language so I could figure out some of what was being said. Mostly it isn’t being said in a hostile way, they are truly just curious about our culture, much like we are curious about theirs.

Finally I arrived in Mityana, but unfortunately the taxi driver and everyone in the taxi had no clue where my destination was, so they dropped me on the side of the road and I began to walk. I was already an hour late, stressed, dripping in sweat, and carrying two heavy bags, one of which was ripped in half. After about forty five minutes and multiple stops to ask for directions, I made it to the school. Luckily I was the fourth of ten that would be meeting there for language training. I waited for my host family to arrive to pick me up and head home. My host mother and I signed our agreement “contract” and went on our way after tea and simosas. Their home would be considered lower middle class in Uganda. They had a gate, a guard dog named Scott who was very mean, and electricity. They gave me my own room complete with a bathing area attached to my room. My host mom runs her own duka selling clothing and soft drinks. Her husband works as a mechanic in Kampala and was only around once or twice a week, leaving her to care for four biological children plus a nephew. My youngest host sibling is four years old, Carven, then theirs Duncan who is six, Mark who is 10, Leticia who is 13 and Saldi who is also 13. All of them, including my host mother, were very quiet. I guess this was a good match for me because I am also fairly quiet, but it lead me to occasional thoughts that they did not like me or I was burdening them in some way by adding too much work. They are used to eating dinner at ten oclock at night, and they were feeding me (or trying to) by 7:30; most nights I ate around 8:30 or 9:00. I was fed enough food for an entire Army most nights. This lasted until the last week of my stay when they finally understood that Americans don’t eat as much as they do. Most nights I didn’t mind because my host mom was a GREAT cook. Needless to say, she made me pack on a few pounds.

My favorite moments of homestay came towards the end. My host brothers always asked to watch movies on my computer, but one night Leticia asked if I could teach her how to type. I was so excited I couldn’t even hold back jumping for joy. She typed with one finger, but managed to write a story in a couple of hours about a boy named Joseph who was having a bad day. I then taught her how to attach pictures and save it to the computer. Can’t wait to go back and visit to have her finish her story! Along with Leticia dying to learn about how we do things at home, my other favorite moment came when my host mother surprised me by giving my my tribe name. She had me invite our whole language group over with our trainers, she cooked too much food as usual, had a professional photographer come over, and at the end of dinner stood up to give a speech. She began by telling everyone that it’s tradition in the Buganda kingdom to have the whole family over when first giving a child their name. She presented me as Namuli, which is from the monkey clan and means flower, or “a very good thing”. From then on she has called me her sister and I knew then how much I meant to them and vice versa. We had many discussions about differences and similarities between Uganda and America, lots about cooking, and even more about what they'd like to see happen in their government concerning corruption. My stay with the Sebwatto family was more than I could have asked for and I look forward to visiting them again in the new future. Leaving them was sad, but I was ready to move forward in this crazy journey of mine. I'm so thankful for how much I learned from this beautiful family about Uganda and their cultures that make them so unique. 

I am now moved into my site and slowly getting stuff to make it feel more like a home! School has been in session for almost three weeks and I am slowly building rapport with the other teachers and pupils. I look forward to what the next two years have in store for me. Though I know their will be highs and lows, the amount I learn about myself and this whole other world will be more than worth it. With the endless love and support from my family and friends back home, I can do anything.

*Muzungu is what all Ugandans, including babies that are just barely talking, call white people. Some people on PC staff have told me it translates as “aimless wanderer”, but the Ugandans I talk to about it say it simply means “white”. I hear this name called out to me at least five times a day, whether I am in town or at my site. Some people may think it’s not a big deal, but when you hear it over and over again, it can become exhausting. Small children will yell it over and over again as you walk by until they can no longer see you (even if you’ve already greeted them). Needless to say, it makes you feel like even more of an outsider and someone who isn’t respected for what you’ve accomplished thus far in life and what you hope to do in their country. As if the constant starring wasn’t bad enough, you also get a label as soon as you arrive in country. If you couldn’t tell, I strongly dislike being called this, and correct people multiple times a day by introducing myself and what I’m about. After this they seem to understand, and those who I see often use my real name. All of the pupils at my school know to call me Teacher Olivia, they’ve heard what I do in the states, what I studied, and what I am doing at their school. Now, if they have friends from other villages visiting who call “Muzungu! Muzungu!” out to me, the friends are smacked and told to call me by my real name. It’s nice to see that beginning to happen as the pupils get used to having me at their school every day.