One Year

One year, 365 days. That’s how long it has been since I have been able to hug my parents, take Butch for a walk, or go to Starbucks with my friends. A lot can happen in one year, a lot can change. When I was preparing for this experience everyone told me that I would end up learning a lot about myself. They said this experience would change me, and they were right.

When I got on that plane a year ago to come to Africa I wanted to save the world. I think most of the 43 other volunteers on that plane had the same intention and naive expectations. It took two days of being in country before the first person realized this experience was going to be way harder than any of us expected, and she was on the next flight home. Over the next few months of extensive training more and more people said goodbye. Now, a year later 16 volunteers from my training group have gone home, and I'm pretty sure that all of us who are remaining have seriously considered leaving at one point or another. This journey is hard, by far the hardest thing I have ever done. It didn’t help that coming into all of this I had expectations that just didn’t add up when I got here. The world is a really big place and I'm just one person. Maybe saving the world was not the best goal to have, but maybe it was the disappointment of not being able to fulfill that goal that taught me my first major lesson here. Change takes time and sometimes, when you are the one who is attempting to instigate that change, you never get the chance to see the end results. I think the one year mark is often a time for reflection for many volunteers, and as I look back on what I have done this year I don’t see very much. I still have learners who can’t add, and others who still get in fist fights every day. There are teachers that still take sticks to class and others who don’t even bother showing up. Maybe being here won’t change them all, but maybe, just maybe some of them are learning something. Maybe by not hitting kids when I get mad I'm teaching some of them compassion. Maybe by showing up to class on time everyday I'm teaching some of them work ethic, and maybe someday, if I'm lucky they will be able to teach those lessons to someone else. If one person ends up having a better life because I taught them something, then maybe it will have all been worth it.

Right before I left a year ago my family and friends threw me a party. Family from up and down the west coast came to wish me luck and party it up in true Lynch fashion. In between the horse shoe tournament, the big bonfire, and consuming too many drinks my mom had everyone sign a journal for me. Before I got on the plane she told me to save it for when I'm feeling lonely and it would remind me that no one back home had forgotten me. Over the course of this year I have turned to their letters of love and encouragement to get me through some of the rougher days. When you are alone in a small hut for days on end without being able to really talk to anyone it tends to run you down emotionally. It’s at those points when I realize I haven’t spoken a single word in over a day that the isolation really sets in. I'm in the middle of nowhere! The closest American is over an hour away and everything I truly know is half a world away. My greatest fear has always been being alone, and here I am. I'm stuck in my worst nightmare, but what I realized last night, when I reread the notes from my friends and family, is that I'm still alive. I’ve spent a year completely alone and I haven’t given up. There have been days where I have been close, days where I’ve sat on the floor and cried thinking I couldn’t keep doing this, but in the end I battled through it. So many people wrote in their letters to me how brave they thought I was, how they were proud of my courage to go off into the unknown, and looking back on this past year I am starting to see what they saw in me. It’s one thing to be told something about yourself, but it’s another thing to actually believe it. I don’t think most people know what it means to truly be alone, and I think fewer people could handle the feelings that come with it. I'm proud that through all the really hard times I have found the courage to stick it out and keep moving forward. This has been my dream since I was 17, and even though there have been a lot of times I wished I had come up with a different dream, I have more faith in who I am now that I have accomplished part of this one.

While I have learned that I am a lot stronger than I thought I was before I came on this crazy adventure to Africa, I want to take this opportunity to thank my friends and family. Family here in South Africa is not the same as back home. Fathers basically done exist and mothers are never shoulders to cry on. Support is not something that is freely given and love is something that is hardly shown. Seeing people who have nothing shows you what you take for granted in your life, and after this last year I can say with confidence that I can live without running water, a car, electricity, and even Starbucks, but I would not be who I am or where I am without the love and support of my family. The number of letters and care packages I have received over the last year have made me feel so supported and cherished in a time when I feared I might be forgotten. It is hard to know that life at home is continuing when you are so far removed, but every time I start to feel left behind they have reminded me I am still in their thoughts. If anything has gotten me through this chaotic experience so far it is them, so thank you to everyone who has supported me! I love you all!!!

What Do You Say To That?

You know that moment when someone asks you a question and realize your immediate response probably isn’t the answer you should give? My time in Africa has been filled with answering the same questions over and over again, and the longer that I am here the more complicated those simple questions become. While on vacation this past week I realized that the answers that I want to give are not always appropriate, and that learning to filter my thoughts might be the greatest lesson from this experience.

No matter where we go everyone in this country somehow knows that we aren’t from here. Even in the big cities where there is a super high population of white people, people just know. Sometimes I feel like I have a flashing neon sign above my head that reads “Ask Me Why I’m Here”. No matter who is asking the questions, the first four are always the same. Question one, where are you from? That answer is always easy and people’s reactions are usually always the same excitement and people gushing about how they have always wanted to visit the United States. Question two is where things start to get a little complicated. This is always were people ask “How are you enjoying South Africa”? This is where the first filter pause comes in. My mind is filled with images of no windows in my classrooms, kids getting in fist fights in the middle of a lesson, and fetching water from the river, and I just can’t help wanting to blurt out that it kind of sucks most of the time. Unfortunately I don’t feel like that is an appropriate answer, so I usually go with the smile and say it’s great and leave it at that, but let me tell you, nothing about washing your clothes with river water full of cow crap is great.

So once the pleasantries are exchanged we get down to the real questions. Question three is usually some form of “How long are you here”? If I could just walk away from the conversation at this point I usually would. Unfortunately, most of the people asking are taking care of me in some manner whether it is the taxi driver, waiter, or the cashier at the supermarket, so for the most part I am trapped until they are done with the inquisition. So at this point I can either lie, and say I am here for holiday if I want to get out fast, or I can tell the truth, that I am living in South Africa for a little over two years. The latter answer then involves an explanation of what I am doing here and where exactly I am staying. This inevitably leads to question four, which is often delivered in a tone of shock, disgust, or concern.

“Why?” It’s such a small word, and you would think that the answer would be so simple, because in my mind it always was. I wanted to go somewhere that I could give back. I wanted to help people that could really use it, so I packed my bags, said goodbye to everything I have ever known, and shipped off to Africa. Apparently when you tell that to a South African they just don’t get it. Volunteering and giving back just isn’t a thing in this country, so there in lies problem number one with that answer. No one understands why I would leave home to come help in a different country, and they sure as hell don’t know why I would essentially work for free. They all want to know what I am getting out of this experience, and I have absolutely given up trying to explain that it isn’t about what I get out of it, I didn’t come here to get anything. So now my go to answers are about growing as a person and that it looks really good on job applications. I usually still end up getting looked at like I have lost my mind, or like I am a child that just doesn’t understand life.

Once people somewhat wrap their head around the idea that I am making no money for teaching we move on to their main concern of where exactly I am working. Strangely enough I thought the concern about this topic would only come from the white South Africans, who have most likely never set foot in a rural village, but the black South Africans have shocked me here. Turns out that most of the black people living and working in Durban grew up in the rural villages, and they have no intention of ever going back. I don’t really blame them there, but I find it funny that they are so shocked that people would choose to go there to help. The black people cannot fathom how we survive living in the rural villages as white people. Initially I thought maybe they were talking about safety issues, but no, they are concerned about how we live with no running water, whether or not we do our own laundry, and how we don’t die of boredom. It’s like they don’t see the two hands attached to the end of my arms and they think that I am a baby lost in the big bad world. I forgot how much I hate being treated like a little kid who can’t get dressed by herself yet. It actually starts to make me mad, and that is usually when the filtering starts.

Aside from the four main questions that literally every single person asks, there are a few others that are fun to try and filter before I say something super offending. My favorite is when people ask how the people are treating me. What I really want to say is that the men here are pigs! I have never wanted to tell more people to f**k off in my entire life put together. Anyone who thinks it’s ok to grab someone as they are walking down the street, or make inappropriate sex noises when they walk by should get hit by a car (I’m a little bitter about this subject, in case you couldn’t tell). Sadly, I don’t think that would go over very well and I defiantly know that is not the answer that most people are looking for. So normally I smile and say that people have been very welcoming, while in my mind I'm envisioning kicking a whole lot of people in the nuts.

My other favorite is people asking about how I enjoy South African food. The first thing that crosses my mind is the image of a dead cow laying in the dirt and covered in flies for multiple days at a time. Then I think about walking through the meat section at the super market and coming across a full cow head, hairy ears and all. At this point I'm trying not to gag as I come up with a reasonable answer. How do you politely tell someone that you would rather eat anything other than traditional South African food?  I have enough stomach problems here as it is, I don’t need to combine meat that has been out of the refrigerator for multiple days into the mix. 

My Africa Coping Mechanisms

Recently I was asked what I do to cope with stress and rough days here in Africa. Off the top of my head I couldn’t come up with an answer. Over the years of being in college and being an athlete I learned how to deal with my emotional ups and downs, but the level of stress that I experience on a daily basis here is extremely different than anything else. When I was asked how I’m dealing it made me really think about how I handled my emotions at home versus here, and I thought the comparisons were quite entertaining.

At home I would say my number one coping mechanism was food. That whole idea of eating your feelings is pretty valid. Is it the healthiest thing, no, but is eating an entire carton of Ben and Jerry’s fulfilling, absolutely. During college my go to bad day cure was either Starbucks or an evening ice cream run. Based on my bank account those trips happened more often than I care to admit. Here in Africa, neither of those options are possible. First of all, there isn’t a single Starbucks in this whole country, I checked. Second, a trip to town takes at least three hours, regardless of how long you want to be there. In college my roommate and I would frequently take trips to Safeway at 8pm just because we were too lazy to cook something we already had. There is was easy to stop at a store and pick something up that you had been craving. Here you have to plan that out days in advance, which kind of cuts the craving part out of the mix. Then, even if they had Ben and Jerry’s here, which they don’t, by the time you spent an hour to four hours waiting for a taxi to fill you would get home to some soupy sweat cream mixture that probably spilt all over your bags.

My other favorite bad day remedy was Beauty and the Beast. Yes, I am 23 years old and my favorite movie is still Beauty and the Beast, and that will never change. Anytime my mom would call and I would tell her I was watching that movie she automatically knew I was either sick or sad. Normally I would turn it off before the Beast turns back into the creepy blond man-woman because he just creeps me out, but something about those songs could always put a smile on my face. So of course I brought a copy of the DVD with me to Africa, and watched on average once a week for the first 9 months or so. Then disaster struck, the DVD broke! In a panic I informed my mother of this heart breaking event and begged her to send me another copy. Come to find out Disney really likes to just stop all over my hopes and dreams and had already put the DVD back in that stupid vault of theirs. Why they only release the classics for a limited time is just beyond me, but I’m starting to think it’s because they are just mean. You can now buy the movie on Amazon for like $40! I love the movie, but seriously $40 is pushing things a little far.

So now that both of my favorite stress release strategies are out of the picture, how do I handle the daily emotional roller coaster that is my Peace Corps service? Strategy number one, I hide. I spend some quality time in my hut, because sometimes I just can’t handle seeing people or trying to figure out what on earth they are saying to me. Once a week I get to have a face to face conversation with my closest volunteer when we meet up to get groceries. Once a week I get to talk with someone in person that actually understands what I’m saying and how hard it is to be here sometimes. As much as I love the fact that I can text my friends and family back home through WhatsApp and Facebook, it’s not the same as talking with someone, and having broken conversations with people who always ask me how much I’m loving Africa is pretty stressful. So since it is basically impossible to go outside and not have to interact with someone, I just don’t go outside, like ever. Like most volunteers in South Africa I have even stopped going outside to pee. When I first arrived in my village I was informed that it is unsafe to go to the pit latrine at night and that I would need to get a pee bucket. At first I thought that was gross and did everything I could to not have to use it, but over the past few months it had become my new best friend. Some volunteers have taken it to an extreme and even go number two in their buckets, but that’s a line I’m not about to cross. I like to think of it as just a different form of indoor plumbing and it saves me the super awkward moments while I try to explain to my neighbors that I don’t want to talk right now, I just want to go to the pit latrine. So now rather than being an emotional eater I just hide in my room like a hermit.  

Previously I would have filled my time hiding in my room with happy upbeat Disney songs, but since that dream was crushed I have recently been filling my time by day dreaming. I think a huge part of surviving the emotions of being extremely homesick, lonely, and pissed off is being able to mentally escape sometimes. Recently I like to escape by thinking about all of the delicious food I'm going to eat when I get home! Ask any volunteer, the number one thing on the list of things we want to do when we get home has to do with food. Family and friends are always involved, but it usually revolves around going to this restaurant with them, or having your mom make a full Thanksgiving dinner in the middle of August just because you can. When you eat the same five meals every week you end up fantasizing about food…a lot. The second thing I'm going to do when I get home, after I go to Starbucks, is get a gym membership, because I my plans for the first month of being home all involve eating. So when I'm super homesick or pissed off at my school for starting exams three weeks before the end of term, I come home, pee in my bucket, and lay in bed thinking of all the amazing food I'm going to consume when I get back home. It’s kind of hard to be mad when you’re thinking about Cassie’s warm homemade cinnamon rolls, or sushi dates with mom and dad. Hell, at this point I would even take deer tacos over the quarter jar a peanut butter I ate for lunch today! In college I was able to actually eat my feelings, in Africa I fantasize about eating my feelings, it’s possible that there is something wrong with me, but after almost a year of being away from home I'm relatively ok with where my coping mechanisms are.

So the next time anyone is wondering how I'm dealing with missing my friends or family, or how I'm handling the stress of being in Africa know that I'm probably either on the floor or in my bed thinking about pumpkin curry and endless Olive Garden breadsticks so that I can distract myself from how hard this experience is sometimes. 

When is it No Longer Boys Being Boys?

I’ve said more than once that being at my school is like being in Lord of the Flies. Everything I have seen so far has been mad chaos where learners are left on their own to handle things that should be dealt with by authority figures. This becomes extremely apparent before school and during breaks. When 500 learners aged between 6 and 20 are left unsupervised there are bound to be problems. If a child comes to the staff room crying because of something that happened during break, they are often turned away while the teachers laugh because it is absurd to them that they should be disturbed during their break to deal with petty issues among children. I recently learned that at my school breaks are meant for the teachers, not for the learners, and that means that they will not be bothered with school issues during said breaks. This complete lack of supervision and rules in general has left the learners to create their own ranks among each other, most significantly among the boys.

I have seen the evidence of this in my grade 6 class, where I have two boys who have recently turned 18. I now have boys and girls who are 11 in the same class with boys literally twice their size, and almost twice their age. I’m sure you can guess where the 11 year olds rank in the hierarchy created among the boys throughout the school. In my class I have seen more fist fights in the last five months than I have seen in my entire life. These are fights occurring in a room, with a teacher present, so how many do you thinking are happening outside when there is no one around to even try and break them up? When I have brought this issue up with the other teachers and the management at my school I have been given the same generic answers of “our learners are naughty” and my all-time favorite “boys will be boys”. I agree to some extent that boys will be boys. I grew up with two older brothers, and I have seen how they like to handle altercations, but I also believe that at some point that excuse is just teachers, parents, and authority figures being lazy and not wanting to monitor and discipline their children. The boys at my school have taken it upon themselves to be the judge, jury, and sheriff, and for all the people who have read Lord of the Flies what does the mad chaos escalates into, violence.

Last week was when the petty fights and arguments escalated past the point of boys just being boys. A 19 year old boy brought a knife to school, waited until classes were supposed to be starting, walked into a classroom and stabbed a 17 year old boy in the back of the neck. He knew that the first ten minutes of first period are when teachers are in the staff room “preparing” for the day. He saw this as the perfect time to corner the boy inside a small room, and that there would be no teachers around to interrupt his plans. The packed staff room was alerted to a problem when students began to pour out of the classrooms screaming as the boy was trying to escape his attacker. After a few minutes chasing around the school yard, that boy with the knife was finally tackled by our school security guard, and promptly locked in the principal’s office. The boy who was stabbed had a laceration on the back of his neck that demanded stitches and medical attention. Unfortunately emergency services such as ambulances are pretty slow to get out to rural areas, so some of the teachers strapped a bunch of gauze to the wound, put the boy in the back of a car, and rushed to the local clinic. The rest of us had the privilege of staying at school and trying to figure out what on earth caused this, and how the hell to get 500 gossiping learners to calm down and go back to class.

After the police showed up later to take the older boy into custody the story came out as to why he felt it was appropriate to stab another boy. Apparently on the previous Monday there had been a fight during lunch between the same two boys and a few of their friends. This fight was reported to staff members after the fact, but the two who started the fight simply received a slap on the hand with a stick for being disruptive. Nothing was done to figure out the reason for the fights or to help resolve the issue. So as retaliation, a few days later a knife was brought to settle the dispute. The fight eventually ended with one boy in jail and one in the hospital.

While the boy who was stabbed is now fine, he did have to spend three days in the hospital. The knife was shoved far enough into the back of his neck to reach his vertebra. As he was running to escape his attacker blood drained from his injury into his lungs, so a shunt had to be inserted into his left lung in order to drain it, so he was kept in the hospital to monitor for infection. He is now back in school and doing perfectly fine.

I realize that violent outbursts happen in schools all over the world, and that this is not just a third world problem. However, this incident really got me thinking about how differently we monitor and discipline students in the United States. When I had my first fist fight in class I sent the boys to the principal, only to have them sent right back. Discipline here is at the end of a stick, but pain only lasts for so long. Learners here aren’t afraid of getting in trouble because there are no lasting consequences. Getting suspended or expelled isn’t a discipline tactic used in this country, and even if it was, parents are so uninvolved that kids would probably welcome a few days off at home. There are no consistently enforced rules at my school, so the learners have made up their own and enforce them themselves. While most of these learner imposed rules are regulated by school yard fights and bullying, it seems that eventually they escalate to something more extreme. It makes me really curious what has to happen in order for the staff at my school to realize that this is beyond boys being boys, and that they need to do something in order to insure the safety of the learners. Obviously a boy getting stabbed and spending three days in the hospital wasn’t enough, because it took less than one day for the teachers to migrate back to the staff room leaving the learners unattended. 

Vacation Photos

Hungry Hungry Hippo

Growing up I thought I had heard all the reasons not to walk around alone after dark. As a child I got the warnings about how it’s harder for cars to see you at night and it’s easier to get lost, and as a girl I got all the warnings about it not being safe because creepers walk around at night. Then when I got to college I got the warning about how nothing good ever happens after midnight (which looking back, I would have to agree with). Over the years I thought I had heard them all. Then I showed up to the beautiful coastal town of St. Lucia, South Africa, where I was given a new reason not to walk around at night. Here you don’t have to worry about drunks stumbling around, or murderers lurking around dark corners, it’s a pretty safe place. That is, until you are walking back from dinner and come face to face with a 5000 lbs. hippo in the middle of the street.

The town of St. Lucia is located right on the edge of the St. Lucia estuary, home to the largest hippopotamus population in the world. I always imagined hippos kind of like the dancing ones on Fantasia. Even when you see them on the Discovery Channel they look so cute with their wiggly ears as they float around in a big muddy pond. I’m just going to add this to my list of things Disney lied to me about as a child. I’m pretty sure any animal loses the cute factor when they are bigger than a minivan and have teeth longer than bananas, and just to set the record straight, they don’t dance around in tutus.

My week long vacation started by meeting up with my friend, and fellow volunteer, Monica in Durban. From there we made the trek to the town of Manguzi, near the Mozambique boarder to spend a few days at another volunteer’s site. We met up with Briana, got some groceries, and then hopped in the back of a caged pickup truck to head to her village. Briana’s village could not be more different than mine. First of all she is in the tropics, and it is HOT. Being close to the boarder and only about an hour from the ocean her village is situated among sandy dunes and is infested with every creepy crawling bug known to mankind. I use the term infested because even after nine months in Africa I would rather never see an ant or dung beetle ever again. It’s also home to two of the most aggressive snakes in the world, the black mamba and the puff adder, but we were fortunate enough to not run into any of those.

Our big adventure in Manguzi was paying a local to drive us through the back roads to the beach. We were going to spend the day soaking up some much needed vitamin D with Briana’s host family and their friend (who was our driver). We assumed that since they were all locals that they would know how to get to the beach we were aiming for, but unfortunately we were wrong. The driver kept leaning out the window of the truck to ask us if we knew how to get there. It apparently never occurred to him that the white girls from out of town would have no idea where we were going, hence why we paid him to drive us. So after a few wrong turns, and a few sandy hills that we got stuck on, we made it to the beach…just not the right beach. Being the easy going Americans we figured a beach is a beach and the one we were at would be just as good as the one we were aiming for, right? Wrong!!! We hadn’t even had time to get out of the truck bed when we were approached by three men in uniform, carrying very large rifles. Nothing says “you are not welcome here” like an automatic rifle. Turns out that we had unknowingly entered a protected wildlife area that was not open to the public, and that was being monitored by South Africa’s equivalent to park rangers. Except these park rangers carry big guns rather than flashlights and radios. Fortunately they believed the obviously foreign white girls that we were just lost and were looking for the public beach a few dirt roads over. They were kind enough to not shoot us and even gave us directions on how to get the hell out of there! Looking back it is an entertaining story to tell, but in the moment nothing makes you want to pee your pants more than big guys with guns in a foreign country where you hardly speak the language.

So after that fun little detour we finally made it to one of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen. It kind of reminded me of the scene from the beginning of the second Jurassic Park. All you could see where miles and miles of undeveloped beaches with huge hills covered in tropical jungle plants rising up behind the sand. The Indian Ocean is a beautiful blue and so refreshing after spending two hours riding in the back of a truck on a hot day. We spent the day playing with Briana’s host siblings and lounging on the beach. Of course I got sun burnt  again, but this time I blame my friends because I only got burnt on my back where it was their job to apply the sun screen. Apparently it is impossible for me to go to the beach and not get burnt.

So after a few days of lounging around and an amazing day at the beach, we left Manguzi to spend a few days back in the land of restaurants and showers in St Lucia. The first thing you notice when you enter this little town are the road signs. Who would have thought you would ever need a hippo crossing sign, especially in the middle of town. When we finally made it to the backpacker that we were staying at we were greeted with another sign. On the back of every door leading out of the building there was a warning about hippos roaming free after dark. No joke, hippos walk up from the estuary at night to find a nice little grass area to chow down on. It just so happens that many of these hippo dining areas are people’s front yards. Who needs a lawn mower when you have a herd of hippos?

Like most Americans none of us had ever seen a hippo outside of the zoo, so our first adventure was to go on a hippo/croc tour that evening. Briana was a little hesitant to get on a small boat with mesh railing to get right up close and personal with some hippos. Turns out some people in her village had recently been attacked by hippos, and one guy was killed. Once again, Disney lied, wild animals don’t always want to be your friend, and hippos are super mean. You don’t ever want to piss one off, and you especially don’t want to get between a mom and her baby, unless the idea of being skewered by a banana size tooth appeals to you. However, after a little reassurance that we would not get eaten by any wild animals we got on a little boat to find some hungry hungry hippos, and it was amazing! This two hour boat ride at sunset was by far the coolest thing I have done in Africa so far. I set out thinking I would see maybe a few hippos here and there, but they were everywhere. Turns out hippos hang out in family type clusters usually with multiple females and their babies with one or two big males depending on the group size. The guide was careful to not put the boat between the moms and their babies, but we were able to get right up next to them. While the babies were super cute, the big males kind of still scare the crap out of me. They are huge, and they make some super strange noises. They kind of sound like Butch when he snores really loud. They like to grunt at each other as a way to show dominance. I didn’t find it a very attractive noise, but based on the number of babies we saw the female hippos sure liked it!

We unfortunately were about two weeks too late for crocodile season, but we were able to find one female still hanging out on shore. Turns out she built her nest a little too close to the water’s edge, and her nest flooded during the rain. Most other nests hatched a few weeks earlier, but this mom was still guarding the nest and trying to keep it warm in the hope that her babies would hatch. It was super sad hearing the guide tell us the story while watching this croc just sit there above the water line. I’m pretty sure it was the first time I ever wanted to cuddle a crocodile.

After this epic first night of animal watching we spent the majority of our time in St. Lucia eating real food, taking a lot of showers, and attempting to avoid running into two ton hippos on the sidewalk. It was a pretty fantastic vacation and I was able to add a bunch of animals to my list.

Animals seen in Africa

Ostriches

Peacocks

Zebras

Baboons

Monkeys

Mongooses  

Water buffalo

Springbok

Wildebeest

Hippopotamuses  

Crocodile

Exam Schedule

Sorry it has been so long since my last update. This will be a catch-up post, and then my next one will be about my amazing vacation.

There are only two words that can adequately describe the end of term routine in South Africa: mad chaos! Imagine 500+ learners running wild and unsupervised while 60 learners are stuffed into one room trying to take an exam. That’s how I spent the last few weeks of my first term teaching. Sometimes I would wonder how it is possible that South Africa is ranked 144 out of 145 countries in math and science education since they are one of the most developed African countries, but then I got to experience firsthand how exams are conducted in this country and I am no longer surprised at all.

The current curriculum in South Africa runs on a 10 week schedules. To me that meant 9 weeks of teaching and 1 week of exams. Unfortunately at my school that was not how things played out. During week 6 I was informed, out of the blue, that my end of term exam was due the following day to be approved by my HOD. Seeing as I was still in the middle of teaching I was a little confused as to why my exam needed to be ready when I still hadn’t covered many of the topics supposed to be covered in term 1. I was not surprised however, that they would tell me about something like that being due the next day. I have sadly come to expect that I will be informed last minute about everything because all the other teachers are using the same lesson plans and exams that they have been using for the last 10 years. But I digress, so after a quick conversation with my HOD I was informed of the exam schedule that would be starting the next week. The general schedule was there would be one exam per day during week 7, with two exams on Monday. Exams would start at 9am and end at 11am, except Monday that had another exam from 11:30am to 1:30pm. When learners were finished with their exam they were expected to leave the classroom to go eat, and then would be dismissed when the exam time had ended. Teachers were required to remain at school until the end of the school day at 2:45pm. Apparently as long as teachers are at school for the full day, it can count as a full day of teaching even if the learners are not there.

At first I was confused as to why we were doing this during week 7 when we still had three weeks to go, but then I got that answer as well. The current curriculum has six subjects for grades 1 to 6, but nine learning areas for grades 7 to 9. This meant that those three grades needed to continue their exams into the next week, because heaven forbid they schedule more than one exam per day throughout the rest of the first week. To say I was super annoyed would be a drastic understatement. I couldn’t really understand how the majority of my grade 5 class can’t subtract correctly, but now that I know only 6 weeks of each 10 week term is used for teaching I get it.

So there went two weeks of teaching. It was suggested that if I wanted to continue teaching after the exams that I could request having my classes stay while all the other learners left at 11am. That lasted for about 15 minutes before I discovered it was the worst idea ever. I thought my learners were loud and out of control before, but when you force kids to stay at school when all their friends just got to go home, they turn absolutely crazy. I’ve had to break up enough fights in my classes as it is, I was not going to watch while they rebelled, so they were sent home pretty fast that first day.

Unfortunately that left us with two more weeks still. Week 9 was taken up by the Annual National Assessment (ANA) for grades 3, 6, and 9. The South African government has schools take the first ANA last September, and then realized just how bad the rural schools were really doing. This year they decided that for all the school that averaged below 25% in English and math needed to take the ANA every term as practice. However, only grades 3, 6, and 9 had to take them because those are the transition grades where kids either get held back (until they are 18 in my grade 6 class) if they continue to fail. So week 9 consisted of administering the ANA exam to those three grades, while the rest of the school ran wild outside waiting for their free lunch. It was horrible. But once again the exams were between 9am and 11am, and then all the learners were dismissed. The one good part about this week was I now actually had things to grade to occupy the rest of my time stuck in the staff room.

Week 10 was the absolute worst. This was the week grades were due. Since we are in rural Africa, this meant that grades were all due by hand. A report was submitted by each subject teacher to the class teacher, who is in charge of a specific grade. The class teachers must then compile all of the grades into a class mark sheet, and then hand write individual reports for each learner. Imagine if all the report cards you got while in school were hand written. It takes a lot of time, but only one teacher is allowed to do it, so the rest of us basically sat there for a week. No learners came to school, there were no free lunches, and there were just 18 teachers crammed into one small room with nothing to do. In South Africa having nothing to do means free time to sing and dance! Something that was cute and cool when I first got to site, but after about two songs it now makes me want to go hide, which is exactly what I ended up doing for a week. I decided that I would go “lesson plan” in the grade 6 classroom so that I could get away from the singing, eating, and yelling going on in the staff room non-stop. The whole thing was just too much for me to handle.

As a teacher it was extremely frustrating to teach for only six weeks and then have four weeks of doing basically nothing, but I think that I am the only teacher that felt that way.