Career Advancement and Self-Improvement vs. The Siren's Call of Green Tea

July 7 – The choice may seem obvious to the uninitiated, but when I returned to Njau from an 8 km walk to Mbolgoh and Njokoben to greet parents and explain their children’s report cards and exam results (and my hopes to get half the kids to repeat Grade 1), I discovered two of Njau’s “unqualified” teachers waiting for transport at the police station cum gelegele stop. It was 7:30 in the evening and my erstwhile colleagues were hoping to travel to Mansa Konko, where the next morning they would take (and hopefully pass this time) the entrance exam for The Gambia College’s teacher certification program.

Given that the journey entails at least three gelegele/minivan rides (and the potential for breakdowns) and a ferry ride, plus the fact that Friday, being the Sabbath, is a horrible day for catching transport, a noontime departure is prudent – especially when considering the stakes. If I have to be in Mansa Konko by a certain time, I’d allow 8 hours on a normal day.

Today was (mercifully) the last day of school (we assembled to give out report cards and tutus…), which let out at 11AM. As I left to begin my catchment village tour, the teachers settled down to brew some ataaya (Chinese green tea with lots of sugar). This included our two prospective teachers, who one might have expected to want to leave early to be well-rested in advance of an exam they’ve already failed a few times. They too hunkered down, though, for two full brewings (a batch of ataaya features three progressively sweeter rounds) that took them well into the afternoon. Once I’d arrived and greeted the police and my colleagues, one of the teachers bemoaned their difficulty finding transport at this late stage. This was one of those rare occasions where I managed to bite my tongue; a year of haranguing teachers about the seemingly obvious is wearing on me and the rainy season break is arriving in good time.

A little about the competition

29 June 2006 – Tonight I visited Musa and Fana Ceesay, whose 5 year old son Mam Sheikh has left the school’s nursery class, and is now studying at a dara (madrassa) in Darou, a km away from us in Senegal. So I dropped by to see if I could encourage Mam Sheikh’s return. Musa and his brother Sheikh, a teacher at Njau’s school, are both well-educated and could help Mam Sheikh, who’s a bright boy, to do well.

Musa was quick to mollify me, however, explaining that after two years in Darou, Mam Sheikh would re-enroll at Njau for Grade 1. His plan to give Mam Sheikh a little grounding in the Koran sounded reasonable enough.

As Musa went on, though, I felt less at ease. He explained that the students spend the morning farming in the school’s fields, then study after lunch. He noted that the teachers are very strict (a strong statement given some of the sadists in DOSE’s employ), and the children don’t sleep on beds (or under mosquito nets) and only bathe once a week or so. Musa said that Mam Sheikh used to be very playful (he is five, after all), but now his demeanour has totally changed. I had to concede that point to Musa, although I haven’t seen Mam Sheikh recently.

Assorted quotes from Gambian teachers

Obviously, these tend to obscure the fact that many people here are working hard, with little training and support, for a pittance -- as our Deputy Headmaster put it, the salary for "Unqualified Teachers" (those without a teaching degree) is "less than it costs to feed a dog in England." That said, these are entertaining.

"Get out of here before I beat you!" -- an Njau teacher address yours truly.

"Children who ask for help with homework are weak." -- another Njau teacher, on the appropriateness of assisting students after school.

"I really haven't done any work these two terms." -- My counterpart, in a meeting with me. The day before he heard that he'd been nominated for Headmaster/Principal of the Year.

"The people here are very nice and hostile." -- Grade 4 teacher at Sare Samba Lower Basic School, minutes after beating students who failed his vocabulary test.

Kids in Lower River Division

Ousman was/is one of Yusupha's host brothers from training. He's a very nice kid who waited in Kaiaf for two hours to take us down to Sare Samba. Alas he and his friends weren't among the best horsecart drivers, but we managed.

When Ousman was born (he's around 10 now), his mother called him Kumba, a girl's name, before his ngente/naming ceremony (which comes a week after birth). The usual placeholder name for Wolof boys is Samba but, as two of her previous babies had died as infants, Ousman's mom wanted to throw any malevolent forces off the scent. So Ousman is still called Kumba by a lot of people in Sare Samba, as this is not usual practice.

On my way back to Njau, I got a horsecard ride from Assan. On the way to Soma we picked up three "hitchhikers" - Maimuna, her mother, and her grandmother. Maimuna is in Grade 4 at a school farther along the path to Soma. It's a half hour walk each way, so it's a small victory that she has time, and is permitted, to go. I asked Maimuna where she would go after Grade 6, since the nearest upper basic school is about 8 kms (5 miles) away. Maimuna answered only "No," as continuing with school didn't seem to be an option. When we alighted in Soma, I appealed to her mom and gradmother to help Maimuna continue beyond Grade 6. I tried to encouraged enlightened self-interest (my usual tactic), but I'm not sure her guardians were anything besides bemused by my speech, delivered as it was in broken Wolof.