Date: Sat, 29 Sep 2001

From: Abigail Stamm

Subject: ujeni essays (malawi)

I wrote this letter, or what was meant to become one, on 6 June 2001 in Ulongwe. I am typing it, with minor clarification changes, on 2 September 2001, also the night of a full moon.It's about 8:50 pm now, the night of the full moon. I worked on lesson plans for a while, until my attention began to wander too much. Classes went fairly well today -- all hands-on in Form 1 (drawing proper diagrams) and a demonstration on enzymes in Form 3, so very little lecturing, which is good. I hate lecturing. There are a lot of problems with teaching in Malawi. A major one is that the students are accustomed to lecture, lecture, lecture. Basi (Bantu for "that's all"). And as I said, I hate lecturing, so I tend to avoid it and make class as interactive as possible.

The Ministry of Education is now discouraging lecturing , as of the past 2-3 years, so of course my school is thrilled that I teach in other ways. Unfortunately, most teachers only know how to lecture and are reluctant to break old patterns to learn something new. I am proud to say that at my school at least four of the thirteen teachers (all science, and myself included) do lab activities or demonstrations in class with some regularity. At least only other teacher does some roleplay activities. Form 1 is now accustomed to me walking into class and asking them at least one non-memorization question within the first five or ten minutes. Part of the lecture system is that questions are discouraged for both teachers and students. In Term 1, I taught Form 1 first how to answer, then how to ask questions. After teaching at San Miguel School in LA, where my students questioned everything, this baffled me. Most of Form 3 has not learned, except for a few boys.

Part of the lecture system is rote memorization. Correction: most of it is rote memorization. In Form 3, that is literally all that 95% of the students know how to do. I joke with the other teachers here (and students when they ask), but I am serious, that if my secondary school had required rote memorization to pass, I never would have graduated. I know I could not teach that way if I tried and to my students' dismay, I have no desire to try. Instead, I tell them that I value thinking and comprehension. For example, any student can tell me that mass is the amount of matter in an object, but few have any clue how to define matter.

I encourage -- no, require -- my students to take notes in class, something they are not at all used to doing. I guess most teachers keep notebooks of their lectures that students copy after class. A Form 3 boy came to the lab one day and asked to see mine. I told him I did not have one, something he had a very hard time accepting. Maybe I am too lazy or disorganized, I do not know. But the students are learning to take notes in class now. Another Form 3 boy asked me, "How do we know what class is about if we can not copy from the teacher's notebook?" I told him listening in class and copying from the board both work. When he continued to argue, I told him to go ask Form 1, as they had all figured it out. That shut him up effectively. (Implying that Form 1 is in any way better than Form 3 is a grave insult, but Form 1 is better in almost every way.) Another teacher asked me, if I do not keep a notebook, how do I know that I gave the same information to both sections? (Forms 1, 3, and 4 each have two sections.) To which I said, frankly, I never try. I go over the same concepts, but the examples may be different. I give the same definitions, but the wording may be different. If they ask me to give the definition again tomorrow, chances are I will change the words yet again and tell them to check a textbook, which gives a different definition from either of mine. If I ask the students to give their definitions of a term, I try to use their words and phrases in my own definition. One phrase I hate is "to know the truth about something" as a reason to study science. I had no idea what it meant, so I asked the class and not surprisingly, only two or three could even guess. The rest had just memorized it somewhere and were simply regurgitating the sounds.

Language is another problem. Oddly, Form 1, is much better at English than Form 3. There are several plausible theories for this. Foremost is that the government selected the Form 1 students based on their Standard 8 national exam scores, but Form 3 was first come, first serve with no careful selecting done. A less popular theory, but also true to some degree, is that Form 3 cheated on all of their English-based exams to get higher scores than they deserved. If any student speaks to me in Chichewa, even if I understand every word, I say, "I don't understand. Speak in English." Most students at least attempt to speak in English now, or bring a translator. The national exams are all in English, so depending on translators will not help them anyway.

Sometimes I make fun of myself too. Malawi uses the British system, so many words are spelled differently (litre, aluminium, colour) and pronunciations are all Bantu-ized (een-hay-lee-tahns for inheritance).

This continues to amuse them. If I want liven up Form 1A, I just say aluminum and they break into giggles. I try to give British spellings, or teach them to recognize both, but tend to use American pronunciation. My speech patterns are changing to imitate Malawian English though. If my students do not understand, I write the problem word on the board. Half the class will promptly tell me the "correct" pronunciation. That is fine with me as long as they learn it. Some students pretend they do not understand English in an attempt to disobey me. Usually, I ask another student to translate in Chichewa even if I know the translation, at which almost the entire class will ridicule the disobedient student, who gets embarrassed and finally obeys.

Another problem is interruptions. Students coming late (I let them in if they have a note from another teacher), students from another class who for some unfathomable reason left their pens or notebooks in my class (I tell them to get their ujeni [things] before class next time and send them away empty-handed), teachers or relatives looking for a specific student (I tell them to come back after class. If they argue, I yell at them for wasting my class's time). I have been known to say that I do not care if President Bush (or his excellency, Dr Bakili Muluzi) personally asks to see me or one of my students. They can wait until class is over. The only exception is for a funeral, which is a stupid reason. Students should know that morning, before class starts, that they will need to attend a funeral, but I agreed to appease my now nonexistent headmaster.

Most of the teachers have learned, but one -- the only one I do not like -- still gives me trouble occasionally. I used to be courteous, but now I tell him off right away, which amuses the Form 1 students greatly. Any woman talking back to a man, especially one with seniority, is a big deal here. Doing it in front of a class is almost uheard of. Oh well, he does not listen otherwise and the Peace Corps is always pushing girls' empowerment anyway. I do not let my students leave class either. If they say they are desperate (and whisper nervously that they have to urinate; Malawi has a taboo against mentioning excretion of any form), then I tell them they can go, but they can not return. They hate this rule, but most opt to stay. Every two hours there is a fifteen minute break between classes, so they have no excuse unless they are sick, in which case everyone may be better off if they leave.

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My goal was to write one essay (case study) for each topic important to the Diversity Committee, but I soon realized that would be impossible. I do not have a learning disability, though I am sure some of my students do. Other topics do affect my life here, but not enough to warrant a page-long essay. Here then are my experiences with my physical disability, my education level, and my race or ethnicity. Mostly, I use them as teaching aids.

My only physical disability is that I wear glasses. In larger cities, people take their glasses for granted, but in my village I am one of the only people who wears them. The only other teacher who wore glasses in front of the students was my headmaster, but he is no longer here. Several people have asked if my glasses are just for decoration, which angers me.

If I could get my 20/20 vision back, I would abandon them in a moment.

Others ask why the lenses are not dark, assuming they are sunglasses. To combat this, I have begun to use them to help me teach about optics, microscopes, the senses, wherever I can work them in. Many of my students have difficulty reading from the faded boards in dark classrooms. If I see them squinting, I tell them to move to the front so their vision will not go bad like mine did.

My education level in terms of years of schooling is roughly equal to a couple other teachers. Some teachers are now taking classes through distance education as well. No one resents me or respects me more for my education level. The larger problem is that many teachers do not know how to use the equipment and resources we have. One teacher asked me last term, "Would you show me how to use the microscope so I can show my students?" I taught him as I teach everyone who asks. I mention the laboratory frequently in staff meetings and if I am doing experiments in class, I invite other teachers to observe. I ask that they do the same for me so I can learn, but few do.

My ethnicity could be most accurately described as northern European. In Malawi, I am called azungu, which annoys me to no end. But others will tell those stories. In class, I use my skin colour to teach about melanin, ultraviolet radiation, Vitamin D, population genetics, circulation (my veins are visible; theirs are not), sunburn, and evolution, among other things. They laugh at how much water I drink, so I teach them about sweat and body heat as well.

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Once a student asked me, "Madam, I am an orphan and need money to pay for school fees. I am told Americans help orphans." I knew he was asking for money and I had no intention of giving him any. So I said, "Yes, that's true. The way my family helps orphans is to put them in touch with orphan services organizations. I will ask my friends at the orphanage in Mangochi if they can help. But you should ask a teacher who has been here a while about what services are in this area." He was not happy with that answer, as he had wanted free money, but no one has asked me for money since. A few students have asked me for work and pay though.

Basi, Abby