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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Ghanzi: Home of Quality Cattle
5:30 am Wednesday morning I board a bus, uncertain of whether or not it’s the correct bus, to Ghanzi. Ghanzi is in the western region of Botswana, not too far from Namibia. I was heading there because I wanted to learn more about the San many of whom have settled there because of government enforced removal. More on that later. The bus wasn’t the worst I had been on, and it wasn’t crowded. The velvet seats were warm but manageable. We stopped in many villages along the way, even picking up large groups of school children, as young as 4, headed to school a village over. An older couple got in carrying traditional things like giant wooden mortar and pestle, and a basket filled with chicken, they snacked on. I was impressed that the woman didn’t get any chicken grease on her turquoise shweshwe skirt. After stopping in Kang, a bakgalagadi man came and sat next to me who was heading to Ghanzi for his mother’s funeral. Soon after, an old man on the side of the road began yelling at the bus about something he was selling. The bus stopped, and he boarded it, adorned in that oversized, raggedy gray blazer, seasoned men like him, wear across the globe. He was carrying a potato sack and a small tin cup. He used the cup to scoop out dried berries that made people quickly pull out pula and thebe to pay the man for a cup full of his treats. My seatmate offered me some after the old man poured a heaping portion into his hands. The berries, moretlwa, were sweet and had a huge seed in the middle I was told would “back me up” if I ate it. Eventually, we reached Ghanzi. Immediately upon disembarking from the bus, I started to see people that looked very different than anyone I had seen in Botswana, and really different than anyone I had seen in my life---San people. Generally, their complexion is light, their eyes, seemingly east Asian, their faces, elongated. Striking people who I had only ever read about in problematic anthropology classes up to this point. My seatmate offered to carry my bag to my destination, down the street from the bus rank, even after I turned down his request for my number, which I thought was admirable. I grabbed a bite at an Indian restaurant, as I waited for the Peace Corps volunteer who graciously hosted me in Ghanzi. While I was there, a man in a wide brimmed, Khaki hat approached me and tested to see how far I could get in a Tswana conversation to determine whether or not I was a Motswana. Obviously not too many minutes later, he switched to English and asked where I was from and what I was doing in Maun. After explaining, he went on to tell me about his work. He works with cattle. The heading of this section is actually on the Ghanzi welcome sign, just as you start to see large commercial beef farms, something rare to see in Botswana. These farms are owned, I believe exclusively, by Afrikaners from South Africa who came to Botswana during apartheid, although people call them boers here. They are known for being incredibly racist, segregated (they send their children to their own tiny private school) and well, boerish--big, loud, heavy drinkers. Many of their “employees” although they’re unpaid, so perhaps slaves is a better word, are San--specifically Naro. More on that later. Anyways, this cattle farmer, after telling me about the Boers and his dislike of their blatant racism and bigotry, and after hearing of my project, tells me that he’ll be going to New Xade--a San settlement. He invited me to go with him, while he barters horses for cattle, and while I considered the offer, in the end was unable to go because of a commitment at a primary school. Ghanzi---dry, hot, home of cattle, incredibly diverse (I mean ethnically not nationally or racially in the way I found Peace Corps volunteers use the term)---there are San, mainly Naro, bakgalagadi, Baherero, Nama, probably more. I first learn this when I head to the Junior Secondary School after my lunch and after my 9 hour bus ride from Gabs. School has ended for the day, but the guidance counselor invited me to stay for after school programming. I’m immediately followed and greeted by children, gawked at, something that doesn’t bother me at all after years of traveling. One of the first students who greets me is a poor Afrikaans student, very, very tan, and his cousin, who is half German Namibian and half Motswana. I go with them to their polka club, a dance that comes from Afrikaner culture as well as German Namibian. All the students are black at the club, as the Afrikaner boy is the only white student in the school. An odd thing to observe, as I’ve been reading the history of Afrikaners and Germans in southern Africa. I then hear some more singing, so head outside to an open area where mainly San children/teens are dancing. The young men are dancing in squatted slow and elegant motions with sticks and feathers, and shells around their ankles. The young ladies are clapping in a circle, singing and taking turns dancing in the circle. I notice that the students are drawn to an English teacher, and so I begin talking to her, and she invites me to the school the next day to learn how to dance. I also learned that mostly all the San students are boarders at the school. They come from villages and settlements outside of Ghanzi and are generally at school, but some will leave during hunting season, as their people are traditionally hunter gathers. After a brief battle at the Ministry of Education office, I am able to gain access into primary schools and am kindly given a ride to a school. The principal is sweet and silly. She reminds me of Veronica. We joked around a bit, she’s impressed that I can greet in Setswana, Sikglagadi and Siherero. 15 minutes in, she told me, “I already love you.” I already loved her too. She told me she’d get organized and that I could come back and observe classrooms the next day. Tony, as she’s called, then drove me to the bus rank, and I sat in the grass with a woman selling clothing as I waited for the combi bus going to D’Kar. D’Kar is a Naro, “Bushmen,” village, although I will soon learn that it’s on private land, about 30 kilometers outside of Ghanzi. I eventually got on the combi to eat my snacks, and I begin to hear Naro---a San language, defined by clicks. It’s gorgeous. The driver, who had taken an interest in me, invited me to sit up in front with him. Again, male attention is often annoying, but I didn’t want to be squished in the combi on this 97 degree day, so I move up in front. I let the driver know that I’m going to the D’kar Primary School for the first time, and so he agreed to drop me off in front of the school when we get to D’Kar. The ride felt safe, as far as Combis go. I’m shocked to see so many orange butterflies along the road in the surrounding fields. The school head of D’kar Primary School rejected my request, permission and all, to enter her school. At first, it frustrated me because I haven’t heard many nos, this one seemed unreasonable, and I’ve been just exhausted from so much traveling and sleeping in random places (I had to fight off grasshoppers, scorpions, mosquitos and other random bugs nightly in Ghanzi, so not my best sleep). I kept my head up and wander into the Kuru Art Center, which is conveniently next door to the primary school. I’m warmly greeted by a group of older people sitting on the steps of one of the buildings in the boma and am brought to the woman who runs Kuru---she’s Afrikaans, and is semi-helpful but never smiles. Kuru is an ngo, in which elders from the community create art, with both traditional and non-traditional mediums. The art is colorful and mainly depicts animal life. They have a San museum, which I go to and learn the sad history of the “Bushmen” and their struggles during colonialism and with the dominant Tswana and other Bantu groups. The guide, Xukuri, was very helpful and gave me a lot of his time, as did another older fellow. I was sad to hear him tell me he doesn’t practice some traditions because they clash with his Christian faith. Ghanzi is very religious as is most of Botswana, but you have to remember, that Christianity only arrived with white missionaries, roughly 250 years ago. So even though people have ancestral history, knowledge and traditions, many of those histories are seen as “backwards” because they clash with Christianity. In fact the only written book being translated into Naro, is the Bible. The longer I’m here, the more I disdain Christianity and the gross harms, I believe, it has done to the world---particularly where white people felt they were superior to the people living in the places they established missionaries. A South African friend told me that Afrikaners (really remind me of rural American evangelicals) believe that God promised them southern Africa because they were superior to the people living there and deserving of their land. Back to Kuru, I spent the rest of the afternoon there waiting for the combi driver, Veron, who promised me he’d be back for me at 2pm. Meanwhile, I purchased a traditional bracelet made from smashed ostrich eggshells, believed to have healing powers, and hung out with some children leaving school who took an interest in gawking at the mural on the Kuru building and at me. I was just as equally gawking at them, again they look different than people I too have seen, and we joke around with each other and play. There is a ringleader in their group, a very light complexioned girl, her skin is almost white, in fact I’ve seen many San with this complexion, and her hair is dark and kinky. She reminded me of Annie---very precocious and bold, and she knows I’m waiting for the combi. At one point, before anyone sees the combi, she points her finger up, tilts her head, and say, “bus.” One of the old men I spent the day listening to begins to run down the road and waves his stick at me, urging me to come down the road. At this point it’s 3pm. I get in the front of the combi, and Veron says, “I told you I’d come back for you.” The ride is one yet again filled with butterflies, and Veron tells me all the land we’re passing between D’Kar and Ghanzi---about 30km---is all owned by one Boer who barely pays his employees. The land is used as a gathering place for San from all over Botswana, Namibia, Zimbabwe, and South Africa, in July. I imagine the gathering to be like a Pow Wow. After disembarking from the combi, I’m sweaty and thirsty, pick up a pineapple Fanta on the side of the road, and I head to the junior secondary school for my dance appointment. The dancing and singing is breathtaking. I try and try to learn the moves, the girls patiently attempt to teach me, but it doesn’t go well. I laugh. Let them laugh at me too, and I enjoyed the afternoon and early evening joking around with students, dancing, chatting and always laughing. I walk silently home with a few students just as sun is setting. Desert sunsets are spectacular, even after seeing them almost daily for several months.
“Tell N|kabe and ||xaiga, me and my wife N!hunkxa and |UI greet them.”
Prior to my visit to Ghanzi, I had read and studied extensively about the San and issues related to ethnic diversity in Botswana. I actually have found it reckless that so many people come here, have given me information about this place, without having had done research because as I read, I’m finding their generalizations they narrated to me as certainties, are generally wrong or missing information. Actually, the Peace Corps volunteers, although some well-intentioned, I find to be problematic---they’ve been here a long time, so feel that they have an authority to talk about Botswana, but they’ve not really made friends with Batswana, learned the culture or looked at the culture as something that can give them value. Instead, they tend to see themselves as the saviors, experts and contributors to a culture about which they know very little. I digress. In 1885, Botswana, then Bechuanaland, became a British protectorate, and in 1933 the British recognized 8 tribes in the Chieftainship (or Kgosi), which still exist today. All 8 tribes are all Tswana---they all speak Setswana dialects---Barolong, Bakwena, Bangwaketse, Balete, Bakgatla, Batlokwa, Bangwato and Batawana. I’ve learned only recently that when someone tells me they are, for example, Bangwato, they are Tswana. This would make one believe that the Tswana are the ethnic majority, but most studies find that they are not. They just hold power, and infiltrate their culture on the many, many other groups in Botswana---everyone is a Batswana, one person is a Motswana, these words derived from Tswana. However, as I’ve said before, Botswana is definitely not monoethnic. There are Kalanga, Tshua, Naro, Wayeyi, Babirwa, I’ve written about other groups. The chiefs are really important, and the absence of the inclusion of chiefs from other groups that aren’t Tswana in the Kgosi system is very problematic. If one were to only spend her time in Gaborone, she would think most Batswana are Tswana. This is because Gaborone is a center of wealth, governance and business. But, when one travels to the northern regions, western, and eastern regions of Botswana, she would learn that residing, in these economically and socially depressed areas, are other groups who speak different languages and practice different cultures. I’ve said before that only English and Setswana are spoken in everyday life, mainly Setswana. None of the other 26, or even more, languages are permitted in public life, like in schools. It’s an explicitly assimilationist policy. I could go on all day, so let me just focus on the San. San is an umbrella term. So far I’ve met the Naro. There are also !Xoo, Ju|’Hoansi, Tshua, Khwe, Khoekhoem, ||Gana, !Xun, etc. Their treatment is very reminiscent of the US treatment of Indigenous folks in the Americas--forced removal from historical lands, forcefully changed hunter gatherer lifestyle, which in turn lead to an altered less healthy diet. They are boarded at schools, forced to learn Setswana and English, and they have high rates of alcoholism. Since the 1980s, San groups have been forcefully removed from their traditional lands. The government claims that they are hurting conservation efforts because they hunt game (i.e. impala, Kudo, maybe giraffe). When actually, at least this is the perspective of Naro groups with whom I’ve spoken, tourists don’t want to see them, and they want to pay lots of money to see lots of impala. They hunt with spears, not guns, and meat is not a huge part of their traditional diet. I’ve also heard of the government removing San people from places where they’re mining diamonds. Their interests are economic and have nothing to do with the well-being of San people. Sadly, many were “given” to Boer farmers as cattle ranchers and were told they could now hunt cattle. Cows are very different than game animals. But, this has also created a very eerie scenario---many San settlements are on Boer lands. They farm there, raise the cattle, but are not paid. Only permitted to live there. Sharecropping was just an extension of slavery, so call it what you will. Afrikaners have an odd relationship with the Khoisan and San, dating back to Rhodes and his goons arriving in what is now Cape Town. They claimed, or perpetuated the idea, that the Khoisan were the original inhabitants of Africa. Perhaps this has some truth, I don’t know, nor do I always trust those histories, but many will tell you they used that idea, to validate their claims to land in southern Africa over that of the Bantu people (Zulu, Xhosa, Swati, Sotho, Tswana, etc.) , who arrived over 1000 years ago. They claim that Khoisan and San are not black Africans and somehow different. This is of course ludicrous, and one can easily even see facial similarities between Xhosa people in the Western and Eastern Cape and Khoisan people. The Boers are not benevolent to the San people, and something else is going on when they appear to be acting benevolently. Now, sadly, from my perspective, a lot of cultural practices have been lost not only because of Christianity but because, Professor Batibo argues, simply because of Maslow’s hierarchy of human needs. He examined the !Xoo in the Kgalagadi District, western Botswana, and found that while they have maintained their language, they’ve lost much of their cultural autonomy and taken on a Bantu cultural identity, Bantu languages are all the non-click lingual groups in the area. Thus, it is out of a need for safety, that cultural is lost. I noticed the same with the Naro in D’kar and Ghanzi. I saw this mostly in schools.
Student “Performance”
I spent two days at schools in Ghanzi. No teacher was from a San group, despite many students being San. I would say many held negative views about San students, or basura as they call them, and their abilities. Students are beaten more for small things, like mistakes, in Ghanzi, more than anywhere else I’ve seen in Botswana, and when I asked about, the teacher responded, “These African children will only obey if you beat them. Don’t you read the Bible?” A student can be beaten for speaking Naro though. I focused my observations on the San students themselves, and less on instruction, which honestly was just ok, and not adaptive to the needs of the students at all. Teachers complained that while they were doing their jobs, the students were not doing theirs hence why they were failing. When the child fails, they blame her. When the child succeeds, they praise themselves. So, I focused on the students. The teacher will only ever speak in Setswana and English. If you’re a Naro student and grew up in a settlement, Naro is your first language. Perhaps you lived on a Boer farm, and so you might know some Afrikaans. Setswana at this point is a third language, English a fourth. In a Standard 7 classroom, the teacher had left for the day, one who even I feared, as he always held up his stick at eye level, as if to strike. I go and observe in his classroom. The students are answering questions about world religions for social studies. I decide to read the questions to the students, and I ask clarifying questions. Almost out of fear, they always respond, “Yes I understand,” but when I ask them what a word means, they don’t know. They don’t understand. They say they do because a) either the explanation will be confusing or b) they’re worried about a consequence. I noticed that the Naro students are especially focused, they’re always copiously and frantically writing down notes, they are first to say, “Yes, sir.” “Yes, maadam.” It’s almost as if they know the stereotypes against them, the disdain their Tswana teachers have for them, and thus they work twice as hard and never ask questions because honestly where would they start? They’re learning about Sikhism in English from a teacher mixing English and Setswana, when their language, belongs to a totally different language group. They are also very timid. When I first went to the JSS and smiled at them, they would hide behind their friends, and these were students who were at least 12 or 13 years old. In a Standard 2 classroom, 8 year olds, under a tree, the teacher asks me to help him mark their work. He has 50 students. I draw them smiley faces or hearts on their papers when they get 100%, and they smile, glow and then hug their papers like I have just given them buried treasure. They are thirsty for adoration, and I definitely adore them. Testing is intense, and I don’t entirely fault teachers for putting their children through stress because of performance expectations. Just yesterday, I talked to my grade team partner about my Chicago school, and I learn that our grade tested the lowest in the whole school during the mid year assessments. I learned that our principal is upset, and this is after a week of my students emailing me non-stop that the substitute isn’t giving them work except reading packets (I teach math and science) and that there are still fights everyday. Immediately, I feel anxiety---what did I do wrong that they tested so poorly? Why isn’t she following my plans I worked on for months prior to leaving? And the biggest---Do I want to come back? Why would I come back to students constantly fighting, to a toxic school system that values testing? Would my work here even be of value in America? “Can you bring me Illy coffee?” I don’t focus on my anxiety. Instead I go out and stare up at the stars. You forget that you actually don’t need to look up at the stars, but that they’re right in front of you and all around you. Rural Botswana reminds me of this. The San and Khoisan studied the stars extensively. But of course they did---no one could ever stand in these exact spots, where I have now stood, and not ask questions about this glimmering sea of glitter dust, flying objects and twinkling. I’m off to learn more about their star studies this week. For now, I can focus on this. Monday Morning I’m headed to Namibia to meet with a translator and cultural preservationist, |UI “Steve” Kunta, who will take me thru his Ju|’hoansi community. There is no tar road to the village, Tsumkwe, so Veronica’s son and granddaughter will drive me in a 4x4 truck I rented, and we’ll then camp there with the Ju|’hoansi at their settlement. Yesterday, I took a small sprinter bus, sitting next to two beautifully dressed up Herero women back to Maun, which is closer to where I need to go in Namibia. I spent the day gardening with Veronica, prepping for our trip and picking guavas with Veronica’s 8 year old niece, Nicky. Tonight, we’re having a sleepover party with movies, popcorn and face masks. I’m very excited to go on a bumpy car ride into the bush. Steve asked that I bring him Illy coffee and cigarettes. They’re packed alongside my sleeping bag and mosquito repellant. Lots of love! -Tess
2 Comments
Mandisa R Haarhoff
3/13/2019 11:42:33 pm
This is has me feeling deeply and so in awe.
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Thanks for the update. Brings back a lot of memories of my time living in Ghana. Different cultural context, but so many similarities in the issues of transportation, opportunity, colonialism, Christianity, etc. Refreshing to hear the open and honest experiences here. Keep posting!
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AuthorFulbright Distinguished Award in Teaching Archives
April 2019
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