I should be marking, but I’m still procrastinating.
The list of things I need to complete in my last forty-one days feels enormous.
And, like much of my service, feels like a continuation of… triage.
What are those important things, those last tasks that cannot be delayed, or ignored?
I’ve recently discovered there is a good chance that I’ll be replaced at my site.
That in itself is a relief. Not as a continuation of my project – that’ll either die or continue upon my departure – there is little I can do to control that. The library is there. The children use it every school day. I hope it’ll grow. They love reading, and painting, and simply having access to resources. What child wouldn’t?
But the volunteer that follows me—you’re going to face quite a challenge.
Some days it will feel like all you’re doing is plugging holes in the dam with nothing but your fingertips. [1]
And you need to be okay with that, because you’re a small cog in sluggishly evolving and ill-greased machine. Some days you’ll want to strangle your colleagues. Sometimes you’re going to want to strangle your students…
You’ll live for those days when you see the triumph on a child’s face as they grasp a new concept. When they finally feel confident enough to approach you for help. Conquering BODMAS in mathematics board races. Sounding out words, and realizing that reading isn’t an insurmountable task… It just takes practice.
New volunteer, you’ll have to follow my service—so a thing you’ll hear of, everyday, is my name (at least, at first)… Apologies.
Ms. Hope did this, Ms. Hope liked that, Ms. Hope told me this. It’ll drive you batty. Two years later, I’m still hearing about Mr. James Butler. Still being asked if I know him. A good three - four years after his World Teach service ended. Who knows… After I’ve said 946 times that the Americas are quite a large place, and no, I haven’t met Mr. James Butler… Maybe they’ve gotten the idea...
I hope that you stick it out your full two years of service. I’ve been mentally composing the letter I'll write to you for a couple weeks now. And, so as not to scare you, it will likely be a much shorter version of this…
I want you to know both how important you are… And how insignificant.
Peace Corps service is a journey and a struggle with maddening ups and downs.
It is also not at all about you in the slightest.
We’re here to exchange knowledge, fulfill a need for qualified staff, start tough conversations, and, yes, plug the dam. The goal is for our projects to be sustainable.[2] And sometimes they are. I, and the last volunteer in my village, have endeavored to tackle the low literacy rate. I’m not sure I was able to get much further than he.
The trouble with sustainability is you need host country nationals to invest in a project, and reading culture doesn’t really exist here… yet. So many of your colleagues will have been raised and studied within the ‘Bantu’ education system.[3] They weren’t read to by their mother every night. They didn’t get their own personal library card in the second grade. Often times, their parents might not even be able to read. Or if they can, it is Afrikaans in which they are fluent, that remnant of a language from their school days so long ago. Only now, twenty five years from independence, is the reading culture being developed – nursed into being. The flames need fanning.
Adjust your expectations.
And recognize that as you are integrating into your village, so are your colleagues.
We live in the far bush—four to five hours in all three directions from the nearest towns.
New volunteer, you will be isolated. You will get dropped off, in the bush, and left behind by PC as they veer back an hour toward the tarred road and continue several more hours into Kavango. You’ll wonder what the hell you’re doing there. Your host-country counterparts… Most of them are thinking the same thing.
Six of sixteen of my school’s teachers started their first year teaching in Mangetti, three months before I arrived. Those cultural adjustments you’re making – your colleagues are making them too. They’re fresh out of college, struggling with classroom management, and they’ve been transplanted into the bush – they been living in a city for the past five-ten years, if not their whole life.
Share what you know, and recognize that you can learn a lot from your colleagues. You are, chiefly and most importantly, giving host-country nationals a chance to spend time with someone from a different culture, who speaks fluent English. You may not know how wildly radical a thing that is, living on the Red Line. [4]
And the fact that you’re following a volunteer, and will hopefully be replaced by one… That too, is important. Because as 'insignificant' as you are, you’re not interchangeable. You are you. The only one. People realize that. They compare and contrast you with others. Start to see the differences from one to the next. You’re helping to break down stereotypes without even knowing you’re doing it, simply by participating in their lives.
And, as a teacher, a colleague, and, in the end—simply a villager—that will be among the greatest impressions you leave behind. Compelling others to take a look from a different view point. To empathize, and explore the things they thought they knew – and to consider the origins of their opinions.
I am so grateful to have been placed in my village, in Mangetti, Kavango West, Namibia.
My colleagues are amazing. Many of them are wonderful teachers. Though our methods are different, our goals are in the same vein. And our children are bright – though they are starving to be challenged.
Among these young Namibians you will find budding artists, brilliant engineers and craftsman, amazing singers, energetic teachers, frankly remarkable linguists, inventive chefs, gifted agriculturalists, compassionate leaders, thoughtful philosophers, and a number of talented writers and story-tellers. They are the future generation of the ‘land of the brave.’ I’m so looking forward to see what they’re able to accomplish.
New volunteer, I wish you all the best. I hope, too, that you love being here as much as I have.
[1] When faced with the stark lack of resources, you might feel our education system is eons behind—but honestly, the progress I've seen, even in my two years, is remarkable. Though, it will likely face a rough transition over the next 5+ years, with the new marking standards that are going into implementation this spring. Oh, man... Our students and their parents are not going to be happy at first.
[2] A huge thank you to Mr. James Butler. You established a great library space in my village. And one, or both, of your parents sent over boxes and boxes of your childhood books. Many scrawled with your name in red crayon. (I use them as examples for our younger learners as how not to treat library books). Clearly you loved to read as a child. I am eternally grateful. As are our students who voraciously consume these remnants of your childhood. You’ll be happy to know, our library is greatly expanded. We’ve added over a thousand books—and counting—since your departure (though the battle against termites continues.)
[3] Corporal punishment, unnecessarily strict rules, and low expectations will drive you insane.
[4] Daily multi-cultural interaction is a radical thing south of it, too, though. Great respect to the volunteers who must deal with so-called ‘Africa-Lite.’ That is an entirely different struggle, and I do not envy you those prejudices, and the out-right racism you, your students, and colleagues have to deal with so frequently. Though I do envy you your students’ mastery of English.