(Note: The first two stories were informational and slightly humorous. The following story talks about one of the most difficult cultural differences I’ve experienced on the Race thus far. If you’re one of my kiddos reading, have mom or dad read it first; then follow their advice about reading the blog.)
Gift, an El Shaddai gal with a name that fits her perfectly. She is incredibly gifted and was a gift to us this month.
El Shaddai girls posing for a picture in their new school uniforms.
The first time in happened, I was dumbfounded.
Did that really just happen? I thought.
I was in 6th grade science class. The students were to show the teacher his or her homework assignment. After she checked the notebooks of the eight students in the front row, she told the kid nearest the door to fetch a stick.
The classroom was silent; the students knew what was coming. A few in the back attempted to scribble down enough information to complete their assignment; others just resigned to their fate.
SMACK!
The girl who was sent to get the stick winced in pain as she cradled her hand. She hadn’t completed her assignment and she was to be punished. One by one, the teacher checked each student’s work. If it was complete, they would get a red check; if it wasn’t finished, they held their hand palm-up and braced themselves for a firm strike from the stick.
I sat dumbfounded in the teacher’s desk. Ten minutes had passed and she was just finishing up with the last few rows. She was disappointed with the quality of her stick and sent the same girl to get another one. The remaining students let out a gasp as she returned with a bit bigger stick. The teacher tested it's strength and flexibility, then finished “checking the homework.”
As she came to the front of the room to begin her lesson, she must have caught a glimpse of my face.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you hit your students in America?”
All I could get out was, “No, if we hit a student, we’d go to jail and probably get fired.”
After the class ended, I asked the science teacher a bit more about this disciplinary method. I had heard of “The Stick” method in my university classes but it was more of a joke- something that was a thing of the past, not happening in 2012. She explained that the stick is only used to motivate students.
With what?! I thought. Fear???
Alas, this was the method used when the science teacher was growing up, and it will continue to be the method until someone fights for change. I left the room feeling sick to my stomach and not knowing what to say.
I processed this disciplinary method with our contact and my other two squadmates teaching at the school. After exclaiming our disbelief and disapproval, we stood firm that we would never hit a student.
I returned to school on day three, refreshed and hopeful for the new day. As I entered the teacher’s lounge, I saw a large stick sitting on the desk.
Really? Is this like the communal discipline stick?
After assembly, I headed to my classroom for agriculture class. Students were to bring containers and different types of seeds to observe the germination process. The ag teacher asked them to get out their materials to begin the experiment. Guess what? Some kids didn’t bring all their materials. What was their punishment- the stick.
A different student was sent to the office to bring in the “communal stick” and the whacking started. Students cowered in fearful pain as they received their punishment. As I sat at the front of the room, I wrote in my journal:
I CAN’T WATCH THIS.
At that moment, I looked up and out the classroom door. An adorable little first grader strutted by in his school uniform. He stopped and back-pedaled, gave me the biggest grin and waved to me. In that moment, I heard the words:
I’m still here, Emily.
God was and still is moving at El Shaddai Primary School. I excused myself from the room and entered the teacher’s lounge. Our contact, Christal, asked what was up and I explained the situation. I had decided to leave the classroom anytime the stick was being used.
I in no way want to excuse this form of punishment or agree with how it was being used but I was aware that this was the only form of discipline these teachers were exposed to. The three of us girls were the first World Race volunteers to teach at this school- ever.
Our cultures were clashing.
The next day, I had another challenging exchange- this time with the head master. I had begun teaching English and Math and he requested that attendance be taken in each class. I fully understood the importance of this but it’s not like America where you click some buttons and send it in electronically. Here, you read each name and put a check by it if the student is here; then you bring it to the office. I jokingly replied to this request.
“Do you know how long it would take me to read 44 names in SiSwati? It would take up half of my instructional time… Besides, what are you going to do if a student is absent? Do you have a policy in place for absentee students?”
His reply took me off guard.
“We beat them.”
He said it with a dead serious face, no joking manner in his voice. I could feel my blood boiling, my defenses rising.
“You’re telling me that if a student is absent from school they will be beaten? How do you know they weren’t sick?”
“I’ll call the parents.”
“And if they don’t have reasonable excuse?”
“Then they will pay the punishment.”
“Let me ask you this, would you want to come to school if you knew you’d be punished? Isn’t this system doing the exact opposite of what you’re trying to accomplish?”
His only response was, “You mean, you don’t beat your students in America?”
“No, never. And I’ll never beat a student here.”
One might imagine that a conversation like this would put a damper of all other conversations. And it did. I left school that day feeling defeated and frustrated and angry and sad that this kind of treatment was still being accepted, even encouraged in the world.
I questioned if I should go back. Was I really making a difference there? Christal reassured me that I was. I was there for the kids, even if it was to raise their self-esteem, to speak life into them, to believe in their dreams.
So I kept going back.
Slowly but surely I noticed a difference in the teaching staff. For starters, they would never hit a child in front of me. Our differing of opinions at least got them pondering, believing that maybe another method was more beneficial. A few days later, the head master gave every teacher a copy of an article entitled “Alternatives to Corporal Punishment” that highlighted its adverse effects, especially in light of positive discipline ideas offered. It even stated the article of Swaziland’s constitution where children’s rights are protected. He gave it to us for our own study, as a way to consider another perspective.
After three weeks at school, there is still a communal stick sitting in the teacher’s lounge. We’ve won small battles but there is still a cultural war raging. I still don’t know all of God’s reasons for having us at school but I see progress.
I’m still here.
What I know for sure is that God is still at work in the hearts and minds of the students and staff at El Shaddai Primary School, even through clashing cultures.
Students praying during morning assembly.
