One Down

So first term is officially over. The last few weeks have been the most difficult apart from the first few weeks. The kids have been unruly—not caring to listen—preferring to yell, run around, hit each other, and to steal pens, rulers and erasers. I find myself more impatient and frustrated than ever—spending far more energy on attempted discipline than actual teaching.

Wednesday, I went with about ten of my students to a school in a nearby village called Okambahe. They were holding a festival under the theme “Education for All.” And Omatjete performed along with several other schools. Screaming out slogans I had been asked to write, phrases like “No matter race, class, or gender, we are all equal in our right to education.” I cringed slightly to hear them recited. Not because I disagreed with what I’d scratched out upon command from the principal—I just doubted that the students understood what they were saying at all. It was like listening to them say their times tables and then watching them fail the test.

In one of my first emails home I remember making a laundry list of things I’d learned in my first two weeks in Omatjete. As term closes and I mark four months in Namibia, all lessons seem to dwindle down to one: change, real change, is slow. So slow that it is impossible to measure with the naked eye. So slow I never stop wondering if it exists at all. I know everyone at home wants to hear about how I’m making a difference, but here’s the hard truth: there are times when it feels like my being here is absolutely inconsequential.

In the truck on Wednesday (I sat in the back with the students—the principal and another teacher sat up front with the driver), as we were about to be on our way, the principal handed a piece of meat half the size of my palm through the window to one of the girls. I watched, open-mouthed, as this piece of meat made its way down the ten strong pecking order—each child taking a bite until a fifth grade boy swallowed the last morsel. They did this dance swiftly and silently, hands popping out, snatching the coveted treasure, and passing the remains along. And I knew—this act, both heart-wrenching and beautiful, had been done a thousand times before I came, and it will be repeated long after I have returned home. All that will have changed from my being here, gaping, is me.

Family arrives soon! Two days in fact. So you probably won’t hear from me for a few weeks as we travel to Etosha—Namibia’s famous National Park—and to see the dunes. But I will be back soon enough to tell you all about the break.