Teaching J.H.S.

Hey there, still blogging!
Before anything else: internet access living in the village is a luxury. Thus, to blog I must commute for at least thirty minutes to a place where the internet seems to be fueled by firewood...
The conditions have shown it will not be possible to maintain a once-a-week blogging pattern. I hope to write a few entries in advance, and keep the blog updated every two weeks at least.

Now, onto business...

The second half service component of the Bridge Year Program in Ghana is to teach at a local Junior High School (the equivalent to middle school). I was assigned to Senchi J.H.S., a thirty minute walk from Oguaa.
Senchi is a village bordering on town-status, with a paved main road dividing it in half. Nonetheless, the simple four-room school presents as many structural challenges as it does educational ones.

From the very first day at Senchi, the gaps were clear. Staff was generally unmotivated, to the point where teachers would not attend some of their periods claiming to be "tired", seen as justifiable by the headmaster. Management is not assisting much with indifference to teaching quality, explaining the previous year's poor results by claiming students were lazy.
The building has incomplete walls (a serious noise issue during classes), floors with gaping holes of sand, and no electricity. School supplies also add to the daily challenges of the students - books are fewer than the number required and desks are too small for many of the teenagers.

Clearly, the developmental lags would largely define the teaching experience, as they would in most public schools back home. Also, believing three months is too short of a time to expect to generate considerable academic impact, the idea of teaching led mostly to an expectation to measure and tune students' views on the importance of education and hard work. I arrived at Senchi thinking an appreciation for the power of education could change a student's life, while an extra ten percent grade wouldn't.

Within a week I became responsible for teaching 25% of the school's periods, divided amongst Forms 1 to 3, mostly English and Math, but also with Science, ICT and Library periods. Curiously enough, there is no computer, and neither could one work without electricity. There are some donated library books, which were locked in a back office. For all the academic year, not a single book had been checked out. "The students don't want to read", claimed the teachers.

Offering students the books during English periods proved to do the trick. In two days the ten storybooks I brought to school had been checked out, with waitlists forming. This was enough to convince the teachers, and a library system has been started. Though the books are not allowed to be stored in the classrooms, children accompany a teacher to the backroom and sign for a novel of their choice.
The main difference of this can be seen during "free" periods, where a handful of students now voluntarily take out their books and read. This is pleasure in learning, as opposed to doing it by fear, in a system where corporal punishment is the manner of discipline.

After a few weeks of teaching, I had to review my methods and expectations of students. While trying to instill the importance of participating in class and completing homework, I required that each individual worked up to their best effort. Though a few students were fueled by this strong demand, most didn't respond at all. These children work every day to help with their family's income. In their situation, education is an investment with very far-off dividends, while working in the family farm or selling snacks is an immediate need. I unfairly demanded that young, working teenagers focus on their schoolwork like full-time students.

I've been adapting myself according to how the students respond to daily tweaks in my teaching style - less discipline, more autonomy over homework, more playful lessons. This has been a continuous process, one that is also not immediately rewarding. Controlling noisy classes of 50 students, ages ranging from twelve to eighteen, takes absolute constant effort. If you indulge in lowering your voice, students at the back respond by sleeping. If a question is taking someone a little longer to answer, the other 49 will disperse in seconds. Interestingly enough, if you forfeit any signs of annoyance, amused laughter follows.

Teaching has nonetheless brought moments of tremendous joy, particularly one time when the Form 1 class spontaneously started cheering for themselves, after a student correctly demonstrated the significance of pi (π). Students also genuinely want to be friends with the oburoni teacher, and bring gifts of fruit, or offer company for the walk home.

This aspect, as much as the below-average performance of the school, works as a possible trap to be caught in. At the end of the day, teaching at Senchi is my work, which means the passion into it must go into improving my performance. Proving that learning can be done for fun, helping to sensitize teachers to the full range of their influence, and convincing students that a thirty percent passing-average is not nearly enough are not concrete results - they cannot be grasped or measured for daily motivation. Adjusting to the students' needs is made more difficult, for these are nearly overwhelming when compared to their age and grade. Working through the daily bumps, continuity is the main challenge.

By April, when term ends, I hope to follow-up with some success stories. However, if any effects indeed prove to be meaningful, they would be felt by the next Princeton Bridge Year student. My main goal at Senchi is not to make sure every students makes it to the next Form, but to instill in as many as possible the intrinsic motivation to fight for another two levels of education.

Back to blogging, 

Kwame