A Teacher's Travels & Search for Math/Science Theorems that aren't Named after White Men |
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A Teacher's Travels & Search for Math/Science Theorems that aren't Named after White Men |
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Le tang! I’ve spent the last week in the Northwest region of Botswana, in Maun---the start of the Okavango Delta. The sand in Maun is different--it’s white and looks like beach sand creating a false expectation that I’ll turn the corner, and there will be crashing ocean waves. I almost think I hear it. If you can believe it, it is hotter than Gabs, and there is a lot more livestock passing thru town---cows, many donkeys and goats. I also have seen some baboons, warthogs and zebras passing thru town as well. The Thamalakane river flows thru Maun, which connects to the Delta, and is the source of the biodiversity in the region. Apparently, it is not uncommon for elephants or lions to pass thru town either.
Like every experience I’ve had, a friend of a friend of a friend made my experience exceptional, starting with Neo, a Motswana teacher who did a Fulbright in Bloomington, IN, buying my bus ticket from Gabs, and picking me up at the bus station in Maun. Moabi, my mom’s former student, who has helped me in Gabs, connected me with his girlfriend, Kenilwe, who is a doctor here in Maun. She graciously let me stay with her while I was here. More on the wonderful people I met, befriended and laughed with here. “In Maun they just have a different way of talking.” Tjike? Nawa---This is a greeting in Herero--There are many Herero here in beautiful Maun. To my understanding, Herero are here in the Northwest region of Botswana because of German terrorism that took place next door in Namibia. Before Germans committed genocide against mainly Jewish people throughout Europe, they practiced their genocidal, horrific violence against the Herero and Nama people in Namibia between 1893-1908. This terror culminated between 1904-1908 in a planned attempt or as the Germans called it, an “annilahation order” to wipe out the Herero people by pushing them into the desert, forbidding them to leave by surrounding them, and forcing them into starvation and dehydration. There were concentration camps and medical experiments done on these people by the Germans. I would encourage you to read up on the genocide. One of my new friends here in Maun, Neo, not a Herero, but a Kalanga, told me that she went to the Holocaust Museum in DC with her Herero friend. As she passed thru the museum, to the end where there are memorials for other world genocides, like the Rwandan and Armenian genocides, she expressed sorrow and grief for two reasons---in seeing the same tactics used against her people, and then remembering the stories of her own people’s genocide, and for not even seeing a single reference to the German attempt to destroy her Herero people in a museum, which holds space for the terror they inflicted on others with lighter skin than hers, only decades later. Herero people are a minority in Maun, but you see them on the streets in their traditional dresses and notorious horned hats. The area is incredibly diverse though--there are of course Tswana people---mainly I met Bamangwato, but also Kalanga, kgalgadi, Basura, Yeyi, Mbukushu, I even met a student who was Ndebele---and many white Afrikaners and Europeans who run a lot of tourism industry, of which, Maun is a hub. Immediately after disembarking from the overnight bus, I am brought by Neo, to Ma Veronica Ridge’s home. She was the perfect connection because she works at the regional Ministry of Education Office. Tired from an uncomfortable night bus, I quickly showered after getting to her home, and head to work with her. She immediately introduced me to the assistant director, and together they chose 5 schools for me to visit throughout the week, coordinate transport for me to be introduced to the schools that day, with Ma Ridge as my host. I met these people that day I arrived, and made no announcement prior that I was coming. Maun hospitality. Neo, the Fulbright, loved the midwest, so we bonded over our love of the midwest, our Fulbright experience and love of animals. We even went on a day long safari together. Neo teaches sign language to deaf students and is interested in home signs that students without access to schooling have learned here in Botswana. She helped me overcome my fears of eating mopane worms, and I happily survived, although, sadly I didn't love them. Veronica, and I hit it off immediately. Veronica mainly grew up in Maun, but her family are Pedi from Limpopo, SA. She was previously a teacher, then a school head and now works at the Ministry. She has two grown children and raises her 7 year old granddaughter, Nicky. I cannot even begin to explain how much Veronica and I laughed all week. Her son cooked Kudu, dumplings and chakalaka for me. She made me fresh morogo and sorghum and millet porridge. I befriended her grandchildren, and she made me feel welcome and at home at every school I visited. Veronica taught me that if I’m going to have kids and get married, it’s best I do it all before 33, so I can enjoy the rest of my life without raising children. As I’m sitting barefoot in her garden, with her dogs and chickens, she told me to marry rich, but never too rich because the “relationship of my feet and sand is so nice, and if I’m rich, I’ll need to wear shoes.” When she prays, she laughs, so she doesn’t pray at church. She laughs because she is so thankful that God made her the way she is----warm, blunt, crass, humble, brilliant and one of the loveliest people I’ve ever had the privilege of meeting. We drink Savannahs at the village outdoor bars, braai (barbeque) and joke about going to the reed dance so that we can become queens together in eSwatini. We’ve already planned to go camping with her family, of which she says I am now a part, up through Moremi in April. Keneliwe, was my hostess, and another brilliantly sarcastic, silly and crazy intelligent person who I was lucky to know here. She hosted me at her house, made coffee for me in the morning, gave me her keys and even would pack me lunches. We discussed race, power, had our hair done together, cooked together and binged watched stupid TV shows on Netflix. We took a mokoro, traditional canoe, ride through the river in the bush in Boro at her friend, a trauma counselor’s, hidden, riverfront up and coming, wellness center. Keneliwe introduced me to so much new Setswana music too. I'm playing these two songs on repeat, and thinking about traditional practices, and how they're still embraced by young people despite western influences and a growing obsession with what one thinks "modernity" is.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5R6Sjzp9xc4
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss6T5MBCoi0
I could write a book just about all that I’ve learned and felt through my conversations with these three incredible Batswana women----Neo, Kenilwe and Veronica.
“Ke bona nnana a lela” In five days, I visited 5 schools, some multiple times, and numerous classrooms. All schools were welcoming, and I of course had a blast with the starry eyed Batswana bana. Many of the schools are over capacity and instruction takes place outside for some classes---under trees, in corridors, and other shady spots. I especially loved Letshlotebe Primary School, ran by Mr. Kahaka, a wonderful, older, incredibly soft spoken and warm school head. I spent the bulk of the day in a standard 7 classroom, (about 6th grade) with a teacher who was my teacher doppleganger---warm, nurturing and very weird and goofy with the kids. I spent a day observing her, and her students, and then returned by their request to present about my class and the US---the presentation was brief, the dance party never ending. What has been most striking this week, has been experiencing how standardized curriculum and teaching methods are across the country. Maun is about 850km from Gaborone, but in every standard 1 classroom I visited recently, students were learning the same Setswana phonics lesson---”ke bona nnana a lela,”---”I see the baby crying.” In standard 6, in science, students are learning about conservation---both traditional and contemporary methods. In standard 2 classrooms, I can tell you that all children are learning about different types of soil. In every class, there is a large focus on traditional Setswana ways of approaching agriculture and science, cultural corners in standard 1 classrooms, and a huge focus on teaching in English, however, in Maun, I’ve seen more teachers speaking in Setswana, during all subjects. Of course, children are universally sweet, showy, seeking love, adoration and attention, and sneak eating candy--I suppose this to be true in every country. Setswana isn’t a gendered language so the singular third person pronoun, (he/she) is the same for everyone, and so students call their peers he or she regardless of their preference, when they’re speaking English, and nobody gets offended. I find it charming. “There is an overpopulation of elephants” The moment you all have been waiting for has arrived---I saw many elephants this past weekend at Moremi Game Reserve---essentially a national park---on a safari. I also saw kudu, impala, springboks, giraffes, zebras, hippos, beautiful, beautiful, colorful birds, ostriches, everything but large cats--although I saw some lion footprints. The safari was a funny story in and of itself, that I’d love to tell you about over some tea when I’m wherever you are in the world. But, I’ve been learning a lot about conservation in Botswana, and the traditional ways in which people have coexisted with these magical animals. It’s quite normal for people to talk about climate change here, and isn’t contentious at all, as people in the southern hemisphere are experiencing the negative effects of global warming more rapidly than us in the north. Thus, conservation is a huge part of the national conversation. Students even learn about conservation and animals in school. Traditionally, the Basura and Khoisan people, hunted mostly game meat animals like impala, and would even hunt animals like lions and elephants. There were no guns, and so any harm that happened against the animals, was not that impactful. Tswana people have hunted large cats for their furs, but again on a small scale, for traditional purposes. Elephants, or tlo in Setswana, might be endangered on a global scale, but are abundant in Botswana. I believe there are about 200,000 elephants in Botswana---compared to the small population of 2 million people. In some areas, near the Zimbabwean border, in Northeast Botswana, elephants destroy crops and cross through the villages. That’s true in this area as well. Many Batswana tell me that their numbers have gotten high because of poaching in neighboring countries like Namibia. They claim that because of the exceptional intelligence of elephants, they know to leave those neighboring places because humans are dangerous to them, and they settle here in Botswana. Most moral and ethics lessons are taught through animal stories, so people really value animals and nature, despite the national parks being virtually inaccessible for many Batswana because of the exorbitant prices. Also, most tribes here have animal totems---or symbolic representation of their tribe. Keneliwe explained that her totem is a hyena, so she doesn’t go near it, nor would she ever hunt it or harm it. She argues that totems are a traditional way of animal protection. Usually, the totem, has some significance to a tribe, like with the Bangwato, whose totem is a duiker--the duiker had saved the life of their chief, in their mythology. Science is not only explored by overschooled people in lab coats and with titles. As animals, I believe people have an innate ability to understand coexistence with the natural world, but perhaps most of us lost touch with that ability. I look forward to my trip to the Kgalagadi and in Namibia with Khoisan and Basura people in the coming weeks to learn more. Botho The first university in Botswana was founded through crowdsourcing. Families might donate a couple of cows or a few Pula (dollars) here and there because they all believed in the existence of a Motswana university post-independence. Botho is a concept found in many African countries, and literally translates to character or respect. “Motho ke motho ka botho,” “I am because you are.” Botho is the idea that there is mutual respect, compassion and looking out for one another, that I have experienced in most every Motswana I’ve met. In Maun, the people, as Neo taught me, speak in a Setswana that is considered rude in other parts of the country. They might not say thank you. They might not get up and move for you if they’re in the aisle seat on a bus, but they certainly have botho. I spent a week among the palm trees, by the river, in the sun, among the donkeys, loved, cared for, and truly hosted---not because I was American or a visitor but because in Maun, in Botswana, that is simply how you treat people. Headed back on the night bus this evening with a red eye from dust, a stimulated brain, and a warm heart. Next stop, Gabs for a day, then back to South Africa for a school visit. May you all walk thru this week with Botho.
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Happy Sunday to you all! Happy three day weekend to y’all Stateside….although, I do not believe in celebrating presidents, we have yet to have one who believes in the liberation of all people, this current one is a monster---so, I searched what else happened today in history worth celebrating besides the birth of some old white men who owned slaves, and I found---the Gambian independence! Alas, happy three day weekend in honor of The Gambia gaining independence. “Rain is about growth” This Valentine’s week had some lovely moments, most of which took place in primary schools. Perhaps my favorite places to be are in happy, upbeat elementary schools. I arrived early Tuesday morning, on a particularly rainy day to an elementary school, the oldest in Gaborone, in African Mall---an open market area with bustling salons, tailors and food stands. This is one of the few times in my life that I’ve embraced rain, as rain is of course really culturally important to Batswana because the nation is primarily a desert climate. Their currency is called “pula,” which in Setswana means rain, giving, “make it rain,” all the more significance. When it rains, it rains, and it doesn’t drain, leaving massive puddles, which made my walk to school an adventure of navigating pop-up ponds, and quickly running to the edges of sidewalks so as to not get splashed by passing cars. When I first arrived at Ben Thema, I’m led to the main office by a late student. I guess students all over the world decide to sleep in on rainy mornings. The principal is a bit upset that the Ministry of Ed didn’t call her to alert her of my arrival, understandable, so she yells that I must leave and go visit another school. I’m a bit annoyed at this moment because it’s pouring rain, and I’ve already walked over a mile to get there, but I tell her I understand. I then assumed she was walking me out to the gate, but I guess along the way she changed her mind, and she leads me to a standard 6 classroom, the equivalent to 5th grade. I spend the bulk of the day, and the following day with this class. The teacher is exceptional, warm and positive. She engages the students in a lesson in agricultural studies, something we don’t have in the US, but I believe could benefit from having, especially when our students struggle to make healthy eating choices and don’t understand land conservation. The students break up into groups and think critically about problems farmers in Botswana face, then present on the problems and proposed solutions to those problems. Before each presentation, each presenter is given a beautiful, harmonized song in Setswana. They then introduce each presentation confidently and audibly, which if you’ve ever taught, know this is a huge struggle in a 5th grade classroom. “Today my teacher asked us to present on problems facing farmers in Botswana. One of those problems is, …..” Students discussed problems, such as not diversifying crops, HIV/AIDS, and drought, really eloquently. The class of 43 students is with their teacher all day. The classroom is covered in teacher made anchor charts in both English and Setswana--posters about life in traditional life in Batswana villages, One is called, “Traditional Scientific Practices in Botswana.” The classroom is rooted in this place. The teacher shares her government made syllabus with me, and she is expected to teach 8 subjects, as are all primary school teachers--- math, science & society, English, Setswana, agricultural studies, creativity & performing arts, social studies and moral education. The national curriculum is jam packed, but focused on equal parts academics, vocational training (crafts, tool handling, mbira, etc.) and what we would call, social emotional learning, with a huge focus on problems of the home and their prevention. The student culture, here and at every school I’ve been to, is so supportive. Students are proud and genuinely excited for their peers when they answer questions correctly. They glow when an adult gives them positive feedback, even in the simple form of a smile. Adult approval is very important to children, and in my opinion, the benefits of this are positive. I’m constantly thinking of all the current American discourse on adultism, which I believe has been butchered to mean that children can communicate with adults the same ways they would with children, that they need not be interested in approval of adults, and that they essentially see adults as “equals” in the most simplistic meaning of that word suggests. Children play a distinct role in society here in Gaborone. However, they are independent, confident and intelligent whilst also being respectful, and hyper-aware of how they need to conduct themselves around adults. The results are positive. I spend time in standard 1 as well, which I believe is the equivalent to kindergarten or first grade, depending on where in the US you reside. The children complete an activity in sorting, in which they have to identify the seeds all indigenous to Botswana, then paste them on a sheet of paper. The students socialize with one another but are careful and focused, as they neatly paste sorghum, maize and marula seeds onto their papers. This activity is precisely what I’m here studying---the teacher has created an activity with the students’ development, this land and indigenous knowledge systems in mind. All primary classrooms must include a cultural corner, which models traditional tools like mortar and pestle, and traditional village style homes, as well as instruments. After my first day at Ben Thema, I leave out with the standard 1s I had spent the morning with. One of them hustles me out of 4 pula so that he can buy a hotdog from the street vendor and promises me he’ll bring me a beautiful present the following day. His classmate, missing his 2 front baby teeth, tells me, “You’ll never see that present.” He laughs, and they independently go hand in hand to catch their Combi bus. “Your students are so beautiful, teacher Tess!” I head back to Ben Thema for an additional day, and plan a knowledge exchange with the standard 6 class. They’ll send videos and emails teaching my students about peace and conflict resolution, something they have studied in school since they were 5, and in turn my students will fundraise for them for textbooks, which they currently don’t really have or will share some other knowledge they’ll come up with upon my return. I quickly pop into a standard 3 classroom (2nd grade), as they do a math lesson. They can barely read the warn chalkboard, but work hard nonetheless. They are such active participants in their own learning. When a student bothers their peer, the peer will quietly get up, calmly and privately tell her teacher. There is no whiney tattling. Students manage their own paperwork and smile as if they’ve won the lottery when they or their classmates get the answers correctly. “Do you have ancestors in America?” I spend the rest of this day and the next with my favorite school I’ve been to, Thebe. The teachers are so warm and lovely. Thebe is located in White City, a more low income community. The walk there is quiet, sandy and I saw more chickens on my walk there than anyone. I spent most of my first day there with, Winnie, another exceptional teacher, and her standard 1 class. It was love at first sight between me and all the children I met in this school, starting with this class. I get there as they’re singing and completing morning writing exercises before they go to break, and Winnie shared with me some of the issues the students face. They face many of the same socio-economic issues as my students face, minus of course, the violence. One student, a very tiny, 5 year old Zimbabwean girl, then guided me through the classroom and explained to me who the smartest kids were, explained the strange phenomena of students coming up to me and asking me to go to the toilet, “They are asking you because they’re scared to ask teacher, and they know you’re a teacher who could say yes.” Over the course of the next couple of days at Thebe, I experience standard 4, standard 1, pre-K, and another amazing standard 6 class, who discussed crime, punishment and religions being a deterrent for crime in society. The students are learning about all religions practiced in Botswana, and the ways in which they provide their followers a moral compass. I agree with this approach, even as a non-religious person. I learn that one cannot be convicted of a crime in Botswana if they are mentally ill. They discuss the reasons for crime often stemming from poverty, inequality and neglect. Students can define morality and consider animal rights and conservation in most of their discourses around equity. The teacher had to step out and had me help the students with their math exercises, ordering fractions. I then let the 10-12 year olds ask me questions about the US. One student asked me, “Do you have ancestors in America?” I at first understood his question very literally, but a student corrected me, “No he means, like do you worship your ancestors.” I had begun to answer the question pretty diplomatically, until another student giggled and said, “They don’t know their ancestors. How could they worship them?” I don’t know if the student was referring to black Americans, or was referring to his own understanding of the US being an immigrant question, but I thought the assessment was moving and powerful. On Valentines Day, I was at Thebe and students were out of uniform in their fanciest red, white and pink clothing. Many children asked if I’d be their Valentine, as they asked all of their teachers. Of course I accepted, and even slipped them sweets. “I love you, teacher.” These children are open to the world and to the adults, who have given them no reason to distrust them. Their eyes are wide and deep, almost as if they’re still open to seeing the world. Some of my own students’ eyes are often squinted----from exhaustion, from Fortnite and even often squinted because they have seen too much of the world, have reason to distrust adults and would rather see less. Students, or learners as they are called here, will often stare at me, and when I smile at them, they match my smile with an even bigger one, which stays on their face, long after I and they have looked elsewhere. It has been incredibly inspiring to see black children, not yet hurt by this world, not only thriving, but glowing in the classroom. They are not, for the most part, traumatized or hurt by this world and its adults. Their glossy, wide, joyful eyes have left an impression on me, that I hope will stay with me long after I’ve gone. 30% of world’s languages are in Africa In addition to swooning over children’s brilliance, I’ve been reading a lot of linguistics still, namely, Language Decline and Death in Africa, by my new friend, Professor Herman Batibo. His books are fascinating, and I’ve learned about language groups in Africa, the use of ex-colonial languages, the use of dominant languages, as well as dying languages. The British, who ruled indirectly, preferred the use of local languages, which is why countries like Tanzania and Botswana primarily use a dominant native language, Kiswahili and Setswana respectively, whereas French and Portuguese colonial powers adopted policies of assimilation. Most interesting to me, is when Batibo writes about the loss of culture, indigenous knowledge systems, zoological and botanical knowledge that occurs when languages become extinct. An example he uses, is a comparison of English and Kisukuma. Kisukuma is a language spoken in Tanzania. In English, there are numerous words to describe colors, whereas in KiSukuma there is black, white and red. However, Sukuma are herders and their language has extensive ways of describing cattle classification, which would be untranslatable in English. Language isn’t just a communication tool, but holds unique ways of understanding experiences, conceptual knowledge and the universe. Batibo also writes about how development is stalled when African countries use ex-colonial languages, like English, or a dominant language, like Setswana, and he writes, “It is a fact that no developed country has developed on the basis of a foreign language as development involves the participation of all citizens in nation building.” Think about a country like Denmark, who uses its own language, Danish. I could go on and on, but instead I’d encourage us all to read more about linguistics, something I didn’t think to read about until this trip, even as someone who loves studying and learning languages. Takiya, I love you. This Valentine’s Day marked two years we have been without Takiya. The holiday of love for me, regardless of romantic situations, will always be about my love for Takiya and her family. I’ll never stop reminding the world, that we were once blessed with a beautiful, sweet girl named Takiya. She loved to sing along to Young M.A, respected everyone, warmed our hearts with her smile and made us all the better for knowing her. She reminds me daily, still, of the importance of fighting for safer and more abundant black childhoods, in which children’s eyes are always large, glowing and open to a world who has not yet betrayed nor will ever betray them. I love you, Takiya. I love you children, who smile and laugh, even when you know the world is scary. I love you adults, who work daily to make the lives of children more beautiful. And as always, love to all who read. Ke a go rata. This evening I'm embarking on a new adventure, on a long over night bus headed north to Maun. I am confident that I will see at least three elephants. Dumilani. Mamuka tjini? This is a greeting in Ikalanga, a language spoken by the Bakalanga of Botswana and Zimbabwe. More on this language later. “But aren’t they being denied human rights?” I wrapped up last week still visiting at Tloga Tloga Junior Secondary School. I got to see a couple of math classes, eat lunch with students and comfort a crying kid who was being made fun of by his friends. I miss being in the lives of children directly some days. Class sizes at Tloga Tloga are pretty large, about 45 students per class, give or take a couple of learners. Almost all students are generally engaged, and yet, young people are young people everywhere and when cold called, “Ughh sorry. I wasn’t actually paying attention.” Classrooms are barren, desks are metallic and classrooms are packed. Sometimes a bright yellow bird might fly in for the lesson too. The teachers often have their backs turned to the class as they write notes, students frantically jot down without a needed reminder. I infer from the tear tracks and soaked tissue that the student I comforted, had tears and snot running down his face for quite awhile, before I came over to him as his teacher wrote integers on the dusty chalkboard. I asked if the boy, maybe 12 years old, wanted to talk to me. He initially said no until I placed my hand on his back. He then said, “Well ok. I found out my friends are making fun of my appearance behind my back.” This little boy had the charm and cute chubby cheeks, of that dependable friend sidekick in tween movies. I told him the other kids were some jealous haters. He didn’t understand what I meant by haters, so I told him they were just jealous because he was so handsome and intelligent. “You’re right.” I then did a breathing exercise with him, and he ensured me that he felt much better. The teacher finally noticed he was crying, came over to ask what was wrong, and he sat up almost immediately, “I’m fine, ma’am.” I then attended a moral education class of 15 and 16 year olds. The topics of the day were, capital punishment and the UN Declaration of Human Rights. In Botswana, capital punishment by hanging---students were able to state the exact measurements of the ropes used for hanging--- is still the law of the land for the most serious crimes. The teacher asked what my thoughts on capital punishment were, and I spoke honestly. I told the class I didn’t think that nations should be allowed to punish their citizens by killing them. She quickly told the class that capital punishment was used as a deterrent in Botswana, and then briefly mentioned the NGOs who rally against capital punishment in Bots, before quickly dismissing them as not understanding the need for the killings. The teacher then switched gears and began discussing the UN Declaration of Human Rights, a new topic for the day. Again, she recited the articles of the document and recorded them on the board for students to write down, while she elaborated on them. One of the articles is on the right of people to change nationalities. A student asked about Zimbabweans and why they can’t easily become Batswana. The teacher responded, “Zimbabwean men take advantage of Batswana women, and so they must wait 10 years.” A different student then asked, “Aren’t we denying their rights?” The teacher quickly responded with a smile, “No we are just delaying them.” For as much as I disagreed with this teacher on most things, she was an engaging lecturer and a lovely person with whom I had a cup of rooibos, the tea of choice in southern Africa, after class. “I love how Trump wants to introduce Christianity in schools.” Saturday, I was invited to go to the village of Ngwaketse with a teacher from Tloga Tloga, who runs a motivational speaking collective for students/schools who are struggling in their studies---at least that’s what I gathered. We left around 6:30am for the long drive, toward central Botswana, a beautiful, hilly, rural area, whose streets are populated with goats, donkeys and cows, and whose water streams are the beginning of the diamond mining district. We took a pickup truck with 6 of us crammed in the tight seats. The ride was going well, until one of the motivational speakers unasked, decided to share her opinion of Donald. “I think Trump is the best president you’ve had.” It’s 6:30am, and I hadn’t had coffee, so I chose my words carefully, as I know, you know, we all know, how I can get in a debate about which I feel strongly. I told her, “I disagree.” “From our perspective he’s great,” she responded. Another speaker in the car, an engineer, said, “No he doesn’t. He seems horrible and stupid.” “I agree.” I responded. The Donald fan then goes on to tell me that the reason she supports 45 is because he advocated for putting Christianity into schools. I then try and explain that technically the US is secular, meaning we have a separation of church and state because we are multicultural and multireligious. “As a Christian though, I believe that it’s important that we spread Christianity.” At this point I became a little frustrated, “But we have Muslims, Jews, Hindus, Sikh, Atheists, Scientists. They shouldn’t have to be exposed to something in which they don’t believe.” “I’m part of the missionary church. It is our job to show those people something else.” At that time I glued my eyes to my phone and opened up a Times crossword puzzle so that I wouldn’t go off in a cramped car, bumping up and down a dirt road. “Presentation Matters” When we finally reached the event, there were maybe about 150 teenage students in their uniforms sitting on plastic chairs under some trees in their school campus---school campuses are generally open because of the warm weather, students walk outside to classrooms. The motivational speakers took turns speaking to the students about study skills, grit, confidence, goal setting and taking pride in their school uniforms. Most of their presentations were in Setswana, despite the “English Speaking Zone,” signs I’ve seen at nearly every government school I’ve been to, but from what I could understand, the speakers’ rhetoric was very reminiscent of charter lingo. In fact, charterization and “network schools” that are for profit and operate like businesses, complete with Harvard educated MBAs, are spreading through South Africa, and perhaps other African countries. But, I did befriend a lovely, intelligent, inspiring 9 year old, named Botho. She added me on WhatsApp, and I hope to hear from her again. What’s the connection? There is an odd, sad, phenomenon happening, in which African schools still using a colonial system that was enforced on them, primarily a system that comes from the UK, but outdated, are now reliant on models from the west because African voices have been left out of any conversation around education innovations, in sharing best practices and in research on childhood development. The fact that I am one of only two who were sent to this entire continent as part of the Fulbright Distinguished Award in Teaching Program is problematic. So many Fulbright teachers were sent to Europe, perpetuating the myth and the lie that Europeans and European nations do things better than the rest (read: non-western, read: their former colonies). This bizarre obsession by America with how certain European countries do things, is a complete erasure of the terror, supremacy and colonization that Europe has imposed on this world. Botswana is the only Fulbright placement in Africa because from the US Embassy security briefer guy’s perspective, “It’s Africa lite.” Many Fulbrighters are in Netherlands (colonized South Africa after terrorizing and brutalizing the Khoisan and colonized many other parts of the world), Finland (a relatively, white homogenous nation), a few are in Greece (an early colonizer of Africa), a few Fulbrighters are in the UK (their best museums are just full of things they stole from all over the world as they were enslaving black people, stealing from them and helping the Afrikaans create apartheid). Thus, the problems I observe in the classrooms here, have nothing to do with Africanness, with blackness, with this place but rather with white institutions that were left behind. Being told I need to teach Christianity in schools, comes from a Christianity practiced in missionary churches. There is no institution not touched by whiteness, even in the blackest of places. From the collared shirts down to the knee socks, colonial threads are woven into school uniforms, only made dusty by the sand the children’s ancestors fought to keep theirs. Independences have been won, and yes those are things to celebrate, but the world is still homogenizing, westernizing and capitalism endures. “The language will die out.” Sunday. I went for a hike with a new friend who is Kalanga. I had the misconception that Bakalanga were a minority group in Botswana. This was false. The Bakalanga are a large group in Botswana, mainly living along the border of Bots and Zim. They’ve endured many persecutions from both sides of the border, despite the initial Great Zimbabwe Kingdom being that of the Bakalanga. In Botswana, since their independence in 1964, there have only been 2 official languages---English and Setswana, despite all the other groups that live here. There is only Setswana and English radio and those are the only languages taught in school (besides French…). Because of this conversation, I spent today with linguists at the University of Botswana. One, Professor Gabanamotse, a Tswana woman and expert in Khoisan and Basura languages, is helping me connect to the Naro in the Kalahari Desert. I’ll be heading to the Kgalagadi region soon. She speaks several Khoisan languages, but prior to popular belief, their languages (known for their clicks) differ largely from one another. I then spent a couple of hours with Professor Batibo, who I immediately bonded with. He’s Tanzanian, (where I have previously lived) and I think he was happy that I spoke KiSwahili. I’m spending tonight reading one of his books on language decline in Africa. There are 2,200 languages spoken in Africa, which breaks down to about 40 per country, but many countries only recognize a couple languages as national languages. Namibia is doing a better job, Professor Batibo told me, of how they are preserving and honoring their languages---They have 26 national languages, and so far have been promoting, at the education level, 16 of them. I’ve been reading a lot of Kwame Nkrumah who wrote extensively about the importance of honoring and including all ethnic groups in Africa as a tool of nation building. Focusing on one or two “global” languages, is incredibly capitalist and only serves the West. “Colonialism and its attitudes die hard.”--Kwame Nkrumah It seems bleak. Yes, I know. But there is huge resistance, endurance rather and adaptation. On my Sunday hike, we passed, what seemed to me, like the Church of Zion, a church that was founded in this part of the world in response to missionary churches. The early practitioners, of what were called Ethiopian churches, disagreed with the Eurocentricity of the Christianity they were taught. I’ll link to the Church of Zion----followers of this church go up into the mountain on Sunday adorned in robes and sing. I don’t know much about them so I’m not advocating for or against them, but from my perspective their practices are rooted in spiritual and indigenous belief systems. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1O4-h08Q7Pw I believe that children here are excellent listeners, not only out of fear of corporal punishment or because they value education more than American children, but I think because of the tradition of oral storytelling on this continent. People are able to both listen attentively, eyes locked, expressions matched to your words, listening, and are able to tell stories really beautifully. Black from Books: What am I reading? I once was told, as an insult, that, “I learned to be black from reading books.” It happened about 10 years ago. To this day I still like punk music, eating kale, doing outdoor shit like hiking, I love a lot of white people and yes, I’m socially awkward---especially at parties. I feel comfortable, now that I’m almost 30, not listing the “black things” that define me in contrast---but one for the sake of this post---I love black voice in fiction, non-fiction, poetry, in literacy in general. I was thrown this insult, in the middle of a “discourse” with a Nigerian-American, brilliant student at Brandeis. We were arguing about agency in the black community--if memory serves me right, she was arguing that poor black people are not victims of their conditions but need to take more personal responsibility. I disagreed, and listed all the -isms and examples of structural inequality--probably used very, very specific examples from texts I had been studying, as I know can be an annoying but successful debate tactic. In response, she just laughed at me, and told me that I wasn’t really black but learned how to be black from reading books. It shut me up. I probably rolled my eyes or something attitudinal to front like her commend didn’t upset me, but it did. I think still about it every now and then. I didn’t learn to be black in books, but I have learned and am continuing to learn what connects me and us with and across the black diaspora. I’m reading a lot daily here, and I’ll share some of what I’m reading in case any of you, of any color, is interested in reading more too. Consciencism----Kwame Nkrumah (political philosophy, Ghana) What Do Science, Technology and Innovation Mean From Africa? Edited by Clapperton Chakanetsa Mavhunga (non-fiction, Zimbabwe) Go Tell the Sun----Wame Molefhe (short stories, Botswana) Soweto Under the Apricot Tree-----Niq Mhlongo (short stories, South Africa) Red Cotton----- Vangile Gantsho (poetry, South Africa) Botswana, the Future of the Minority Languages----Herman Batibo (non-fiction, Tanzania/Botswana) Language Decline and Death in Africa: Causes, Consequences and Challenges----Herman Batibo (non-fiction, Tanzania/Botswana) African Belief and Knowledge Systems: A Critical Perspective----- Munyaradzi Mawere (non-fiction, Zimbabwe) I love all who read this blog. Thank you. Ke a leboga. Asante. Ndaboka. Waita hako. Enkosi. -Tess "Sawubona!" Greetings readers! Sorry for the delay in writing. It’s been a busy couple of weeks----I spent last week in eSwatini visiting Waterford Kamhlaba and the weekend in my beloved Johannesburg. I started this week visiting a Junior Secondary School here in Gaborone. I have much to say, so I hope you will stay with me, and even then, I’ll be leaving a lot out. “The cowboys mean we’ve reached our destination.” Before I headed to eSwatini, I had an odd night out. I went to a metal concert. Yes, metal. I actually love punk (I believe that it's radical and anti-establishment and am open to lots of “off brand” music. Metal, not one of them though. In Botswana, there is a strange, beautiful, bizarre subculture---cowboy-goth-metal-headbangers? Apparently, this thing began in Maun with people (and if you’re having a hard time imaging, yes, black Batswana), really into cowboys. They associated their aesthetic with freedom, and began also listening to country music, which at some point evolved into metal music. This concert was near the Botswana/South Africa border, and we passed many cows to get there. As we drove up, I saw cowboys---cowboys (and girls and non-binary people) dressed in head to toe black leather or brown suede. In chaps, in cowboy boots with the spurs, those bullet things they wear, vests, face paint, Iron Maiden tees, and in masks. The music was very loud, but I smiled the whole night. It was actually breathtaking to see that much black joy and liberation in that small, dusty back patio. Men were comfortable touching each other, and some were cool just dancing alone. People moshed, and I stood back, but I always felt safe. In my country, where we are the minority, I feel that there is often pressure to be a certain type of black person, and that there wouldn’t be the freedom to be a black-metal-cowboy. I might have associated cowboys and metal with white folk in the country before that night, but these Batswana metalheads changed my mind. The way they were feeling themselves, the crowd and the music was so black. It was actually almost spiritual and reminded me of a Pentecostal church or something. Not the best way to spend a night before a 6am bus ride, but a way. “I hear you’re from Chicago. I’m a Swati princess if you need anything.” I was invited by a new friend, Tessa, to visit the international boarding school that she teaches at, in Mbabane, eSwatini. Again, you know this place by its colonial name, “Swaziland,” but if you’re interested in decolonization and liberation, stop using that name. The ethnic group that comes from this country and parts of South Africa, are Swati, not Swazi, and they speak SiSwati. eSwatini is a monarchy, a kingdom, led by King Mswati III. Now, I hate borders, and I often use the fact that land doesn’t particularly look different on one side of the border or the other to justify my opinion, that they’re arbitrary and bullshit. However, when you cross the border into eSwatini, things look different. It’s how I picture entering another realm or a magical kingdom---how I imagine Frodo felt when he crossed into Rivendell. The terrain is relatively flat and covered in pines before the border, in South Africa. Immediately after border control, you are in a lush, hilly landscape that feels both sprawling and intimate. It is misty and magical. Quiet and green. eSwatini could be nothing but a kingdom. Tessa, my amazing host teacher, lives in a traditional roundavel home on Waterford’s campus. Throughout the week, I met brilliant students from all over the world. Waterford Kamhlaba is part of the United World College schools. Students come from all over the world, although at Waterford, mainly from the African continent, specifically eSwatini and South Africa. And these students are the cream of the crop. They welcomed me into their classrooms, invited me for breakfasts---I had breakfast daily with a 12 year old student from Tanzania who was happy I could speak in Swahili with him----they discussed complex ideas and were incredibly respectful. Yes, some were very rich, but I’m told many were on scholarship. One evening, I attended the LGBTQ alliance group meeting. They were having a round table discussion on the inclusion of transgender athletes in sports. They spoke on the topic eloquently and compassionately. The teaching styles varied. Some teachers, mainly the African ones, taught traditionally. They wrote copious notes on the boards, and students were expected to write word for word what was said. They always did and were always engaged. The also addressed their teachers as “sir” and “ma'am.” Tessa, the anthropology teacher who hosted me, allowed her students to call her Tessa and her classes were more discussion based. They unpacked white supremacy, modernity, capitalism and all the other isms in her classroom---and to my surprise, none of it was problematic. I cannot say for the other white instructors I saw, and I’ll just leave my comment at that. Although, I will say one was excellent at mansplaining, asking me questions he then would wander off and ignore while I answered them, discounting peoples’ experiences with PTSD but excellent also at making cheese plates and building a fire. I spent my days in-between class observations talking to teachers about pedagogy, but mostly talking to students. I had a little following of the youngest cohort---the Form 1s---10-14 year olds, I would say, depending on their prior education experience. They acted much younger and more innocent than my students. They were sweet and lovely. Two told me I was so pretty they thought I was a movie star. Another one told me that she was a Swati princess, (remember there’s a King) should I need anything. They always greeted me with a smile, a hug, a “how are you doing, ma’am?” I was floored by their deep respect and engagement. There was little to no work involved in engaging students. I know this because this was maybe the second week I was there for some of the new classes. There was no need for frequent movement breaks, tricks or fancy worksheets. No fancy bulletin boards. No data boards. None of that. Just engaged, curious kids, who were always ready to work and explore. We engaged critically with my 'Misconceptions of Africa' survey, whose results I'll share another time. Surprisingly, many of the misconceptions outside of the continent, exist here as well. I was envious at many points of my trip to Waterford and also sad---sad that my students could never access a school like this, financial scholarship or not. Waterford asked me to give a presentation on my Fulbright work. Instead, I did something a bit different. Throughout the week I was told by people about how unintellectual, racist and problematic the US is. Ok, fine, I get it. But this is because very specific people get to tell the American story. As the British South African principal of this school was telling me about how, “No Americans believe in evolution, and we lack diversity,” I thought of my own experiences with schools---my first Russian friend in 3rd grade, learning my first Korean words from friends in 4th, learning about Saddam Hussein from my Iraqi friend in 5th, my dad trying to pronounce the names in the band concert programs that were longer than 15 letters (they belonged to a Thai student and a half Malaysian/half Armenian student). The Bharatanatyam, the Tinikling, the blues and gangster rap. So, I wanted to tell the story of my American experience, and why that has led me to Pan-Africanism. My presentation was called Pan-Africanism Approaches to Teaching and Learning. I discussed my schooling in Chicago compared to the schooling of my students who are mainly black and if not Latinx. I discussed the history of segregation in the US, the nadir of our black American experience, our resistance and organizing, the roots of American Pan-Africanism, the BPP, my work in Tanzania and in Sicily, (both of which, to me, are Pan-African) my approaches to teaching and curriculum writing, my Fulbright methodology and current findings. The anthropology students loved it, and we shared tea and laughs together afterward. I have a lot more to say about board schools, and Waterford if you care to know, ask! In eSwatini, I also visited a cultural village and learned about teaching from the perspective of someone who teaches in a rural government school. He told me that teaching was not really seen as a valued profession in eSwatini or in South Africa, from his perspective. “My native tongue isn’t even an official language in Cameroon.” After an insightful few days in eSwatini, I left the magical kingdom and headed to JoBurg for the weekend. My first night there, I went to a music video release and concert with my friend Mpho (a singer herself---buy her music---Mpho Sebina) and Thabo. The singer, Blick Bassy, discussed the video concept---it tells the tale of a revolutionary from Cameroon in the midst of violent colonization and takes place in Lesotho--a beautiful Pan-African piece of art. Bassy also talked extensively about his relationship to colonization---with his language, and the fact that it is not an official language of his country. Thabo, who is Sotho, and I discussed the loss of Sotho traditional clothing because he told me that the blankets we associate with Sotho, come from Europe. Later that weekend I spoke with my wonderful Brandeis friend, Isabelza, who was visiting from Angola. She told me how Angolans of her generation and younger only speak Portuguese, and not their native languages. Her’s was Kikongo, and she does not speak it. I then spoke to another friend about schooling in South Africa and how while you might be offered SiSwati in a Nelspruit school, Xhosa in one in Cape Town and perhaps Zulu in a Durban school, learning English and Afrikaans are preferred. Later that weekend, during lovely rooftop drinks, some of my friends (a Sotho, a Zulu and a Phuti) began making fun of the clicks unique to Khoisan languages. These issues around language are complicated, and I don’t completely understand them yet, although I’m trying my best, but I see them as relics of colonialism, at the very least. But on a positive note, how beautiful that all those people from different groups are friends, and that we shared time, all of us, also with my friend from Botswana who was in town, and my two friends from Chicago. The diaspora is beautiful when we build bridges and friendships. “Now, Now” Today I finally got to start visiting schools in Bots. Due to a connection, not thanks to the Ministry of Education, I visited a Junior Secondary School with a very enthusiastic staff, who were at first pretty indifferent about meeting me when they thought I was a Tswana visitor, and then immediately eager for me to take them home with me when they found out I was American. I spent the day trying to get approval to visit classrooms, with a very helpful headmaster, having tea with staff, talking to students, observing their work, (more on that in later posts) visiting a classroom (45 students, and yes it was quiet) and learning about their curriculum. The most striking thing to me was that moral education is a core subject in Batswana schools. Students learn everything from death/bereavement (including coping and will writing) to sustainability to contraception to animal rights to sexuality (imagine the worse, and that’s what I observed, but I’ll learn more before I write). In theory, I like the idea of a health class that includes discussion of such topics, although I disagree with framing of morals and morality. I’m not sure I believe in morality, actually. The second most striking thing I saw, was a disciplinary interaction between three women staff who were hosting me and two 15 year old boys. It wasn’t the tree branch switch, taller than me and the width of my arm, used for beating the children that shocked me, it was what came out of the teachers’ mouths. The boys, who from my South-Side-Chicago-teacher perspective, were respectful. They were calm. They answered questions with their heads up. They spoke at a reasonable volume without smacking their lips, cussing or rolling their eyes. No chairs were thrown. However, when I asked the teachers what they did wrong to be sent home for not paying school fees, and to have their belongings dumped on the floor, all the teachers would repeatedly mention is, “They’re Zimbabwean.” When explaining to the students why how they behaved was wrong, they would point out, “You of all people should know better because of what you can go back to in Zimbabwe.” One boy teared up, perhaps because his phone had been taken. The other grinned nervously, and was of course accused of laughing at them. I talked to him about how stereotypes hurt, and asked if he ever internalized stereotypes and performed them because if he did, I knew all too well about that. After explaining stereotypes, he said, “Yes” with a sigh of, “Wow yes, you get this.” Now, I’m not a savior. No, I didn’t pay their school fees and will not. No, I didn’t defend them to their teachers either. I just witnessed a very xenophobic moment and understood it because having had lived and traveled to xenophobic places throughout the world. Xenophobia towards other Africans is unfortunately really prevalent in this southern region of Africa. I’ve seen a lot of xenophobic behavior towards other Africans, and then over-welcoming behaviors toward Americans and Europeans, or those they perceive to be Americans or Europeans. There is nothing inherently wrong with their/our teachers and their/our schools in Africa or across the diaspora, except for a huge glaring thing----they/we use a colonized system and seek solutions in other colonial powers. I know Malawi uses American textbooks. I also know that charter schools are run by colonial power structures too. This is not an indictment of black Africans. The more I travel, and the more I learn in life, not just in this experience, the less confident I feel that we can ever heal from and then defeat white supremacy and its lingering, pernicious effects. F*** Colonialism (TW: I’m angry here) The white people I’ve met here (literally besides Tessa Ware-- a great, thoughtful, intelligent human being, must be her name, and the literal only exception), are unbelievably horrendous. On my bus ride back to Bots yesterday, I was forced to watch Leon Schuster movies---I've never seen anything more blatantly racist, and I've watched Birth of a Nation. This guy wears black, brown and yellow face. He portrays all black and brown (coloured) people as stupid, backwards and criminal. It was horrific. I've learned he's one of the highest paid comedians on this continent. Whether they claim Africaness (from Zim, South Africa, etc) or are some American ex-pat living here, whatever, I find them awful. I am admittedly a frequent crier---a film can make me cry, a beautiful plant, a sad moment, but I haven’t cried since I’ve been here, despite feeling a range of emotions. I cried tonight. I cried tonight because the microaggressions of two white people made me cry over some South African wine, which I know came from Stellenbosch, home to vineyards worked by essentially indentured black servants. I cried tonight because a white woman who referred to Xhosa as simply “African,” who claimed she could relate to the Ethiopians who serve food that tastes,“Gross like her stomach lining,” because she too lived in “Africa,” I cried tonight (maybe too a symptom of a long day) because she called me judgmental because I said I found Cape Town racist. She, who had been hired by Mandela to produce film for the nation, told me that my critiques for Hillary Clinton hating black people, were simplistic and that really Clinton hated all people, as a way of pacifying and invalidating me. She also acted as a gatekeeper to information and people that I would like to know and meet, and then conveniently forgot she had made a fake promise to make the connection. Her friend, a white American man who grew up in Kenya, then told me that decolonization was a buzzword concept, and as we talked about language preservation, he told me that Setswana was the language of the elite and that the poor wished to learn English so that they could get a job. He essentially told me I was bougie for believing in decolonization and the death of capitalism. That “real black people” want to be colonized and to continue to be exploited by capitalism. Many of these white people name drop black names like the most valuable of capital when they first meet you. Many are mediocre at best and have the red carpet rolled out for them anyways, so then they hoard power with their inflated egos. Many love black people that bow to them and scoff at any black person who even questions them. I will not bow down to them. I will scoff. I might cry What is to come? I have a pretty cool and big idea for what I want my project to end up as. No, not an academic paper, and no, not a curriculum. Bigger and better! Bye for now---I hope you are all toasty and warm at home. |
AuthorFulbright Distinguished Award in Teaching Archives
April 2019
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