Day of Excellence

Saturday, March 20 was no typical school day at Village Altonodji. Students exited their classrooms and business-as-usual was postponed a few hours while the students, faculty, and administration took time to recognize some of their hardest workers.

This “Day of Excellence,” sponsored by MCC, occurred in the wake of International Women’s Day, a day to celebrate the contributions of women in society. In Chad, women have a valued role in the home and in commerce, but women’s education remains an uphill battle considering that 1 out of 3 girls are married before they turn 15. I recently read that women are more likely to die in childbirth than graduate from high school, or something horrendous like that!  It was then timely that this Day of Excellence was designed to promote and celebrate the academic achievements of female students in all levels at Village Altonodji. Not only this, but the school chose to recognize the work of the orphaned children who live on campus. Out of the 323 students studying at Altonodji, 120 are “internal” students, meaning that one or both of their parents have died and thus they spend their weeks on campus. Due to the additional challenges that these children face, the organizers of the event wanted to recognize those who have excelled in their studies.

Students crammed into the benches and around the windows of the school chapel, in all of the places that were not reserved for the numerous special guests, including parents of the winners, the city mayor, and a radio reporter. Awards were given on the basis of grades from the first trimester. First, for the primary school, the two internal students from each grade level with the highest marks were presented with their prizes: brand new colorful backpacks! For those of you who are following my year more closely, you may remember my mention of two little boys who insisted on fetching me water even when I didn’t need it and it meant getting soaked by the buckets on their heads. These are the same boys that I recently posted a video of on Facebook, doing a silly, wordless dance in the middle of the gardens. The littlest one, Semplice, is the one into whose hand I had to force a marker back in the days he was still too shy to talk to me, while now he will run after me on campus begging me to color or performing “summersaults” or putting things over his head and growling at me like a wild animal. Considering how tenderly I now feel for my little friends Semplice and Calis, imagine just how proud I was when the first two names were read, the two strongest internal students at the level of CP1: Semplice and Calis!!! I could hardly stay in my seat watching them march up to stage, a mixture of pride and shyness in their steps, to the cheers and tender smiles of their peers to receive their congratulations. It occurred to me shortly thereafter that they might have been the only eligible students, being the youngest at the orphanage, but that did not lessen my excitement! Then this happened several times over as each following name belonged to a child that I know and appreciate for their smiles and curiosity and generosity.

Semplice receiving his backpack to the smiles of onlookers

For the older students at the lycee and college level, the three top internal students from each class level were awarded a French dictionary, a bilingual French-English dictionary, and a stack of new pens. For the older students, prizes were also awarded to the female students with the highest marks. The parents in attendance took turns meeting their daughters at the front of the stage to cheer and give them a hug. A secondary goal of the project according to its coordinator Fitikissou Daissou Emile was “bring parents to understand the importance of education for girls.” This opportunity to see their daughters recognized for their efforts was one step towards achieving that aim.

Then came the moment for the grand prizes. Two new bicycles were poised at the front of the chapel, awaiting the students who received the highest honor. The first bicycle went to the female student with the highest grade-point average in all of the college and lycee, my student from 4e, Mekoulnodji Djerambete. Lastly came the award for the internal student with the highest grade-point average. The winner was 6e’s Djimboundade Caleb. The coordinator of activities for the internal students announced that not only did Caleb earn the highest marks out of all of the orphaned students, but he surpassed all students studying at Village Altonodji. For this, he received a handshake and speech of congratulations from the city of Moundou’s mayor. To the appreciation of all, he also received a big, mama-like hug from the very Mama-y French teacher, Agathe.

Dounia Samuel, the school’s director and my host father, implored all students to take this day as encouragement to work even harder in the future and watch their own averages increase so that this event next year might be an even greater cause for celebration. The day was a hit, and I was pleased to see that brand new bike being ridden around all morning by dozens of students who were not the owner. It was really neat to see the attention and recognition going to kids who were not necessarily the usual suspects, that is, the ones with resources.

I’ll admit something. When I heard some of my students who were being rewarded for their work in the “top 3 internal students from each grade” category, I was quite surprised. These were not all my cream-of-the-crop students.  But it made me think differently about how it might be different being a student in school without parents, and what kinds of extra challenges that might present. Also, in a setting of 50 students per class, it’s been a big question for me of how to provide POSITIVE reinforcement when kids do something good, rather than focusing merely on stomping out problem behavior. It was a breath of fresh air to see kids patted on the back and being given something special for what they have done, with the message that they are capable of doing great work and they can do it even BETTER! All in all, this Day of Excellence was indeed an excellent opportunity to celebrate education, family, hard work, and one another in a way that was far from typical. I am so pleased with MCC’s willingness to play a huge role in bringing it to fruition.

Grand prize winners Caleb and Djerambete

The First Rule of Peace Club

At 7:00 sharp on Wednesday nights, fellow SALTer Ruth and I lead about 18 Altonodji students in animated song while sitting in a circle in my living room. This is how we call the members of Peace Club to order. Peace Club is an initiative that has been slowly taking shape ever since we first introduced it on campus about four months ago. It is a time to discuss how to address our daily conflicts, play games that promote cooperation, and learn about some of the ways people are working for peace on a large scale in the greater world. Early on, by accident, Ruth and I learned that my living room was a much more convenient and reliable place to hold the club than the large chapel, so it was here that the club formally came to be.

One thing that was important to us was that the group be reasonably small and committed to the goals of the club. We decided to draw up a Peace Club contract, for which students brainstormed rules, agreed on them, and finally signed their names, affirming that they planned to be regular members. The rules included: arrive on time, do not mock one another, participate in activities and discussion, and my personal favorite -a tricky one to enforce even in Peace Club- do not hit other people.

I have enjoyed Peace Club because it has given me an opportunity to get to know some different students and because I have enjoyed the task of lighting a spark of peacemaking in the members. Sometimes it feels a little like the students will come away saying, “Today I played this game where we couldn’t talk, and I did a skit about this really mean kid that was pretty funny,” and they don’t realize the messages we are trying to teach. However, as the weeks unfold Ruth and I have been noticing a more respectful and serious group of young peace advocates in my living room, and this gives us great encouragement. I’ve also noticed positive things happening with our “peace wall,” a wall of my living room reserved for activities that we have done in the club. Most recently, we have posted the pictures and quotes of “Peace Heroes,” famous peacemakers in history that we have studied. For each Peace Hero, Ruth printed a biography and a page with their picture and a short quote. Ever since mounting our contract and adding other posters, I have been pleased by the number of visitors to my house who go right up to the wall and begin to read the texts and ask me questions about the contract, the club, and the Peace Heroes. I feel that this wall alone is perhaps helping to contribute to a needed conversation about peace.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” –Martin Luther King Jr.

“Let us always meet one another with a smile, for a smile is the beginning of love.”  –Mother Theresa

“ If you want to make peace with your enemy, you must work with him. Then you become partners.”  -Nelson Mandela

The biggest thumbs up that I have received since the launching of Peace Club came last Monday morning in a place I did not expect it. On the way to school, I rather begrudgingly remembered that I needed to make a detour to stop at the photocopy shop to make some copies of our Peace Hero profiles. Ever since posting the photos and quotes on my wall, I had numerous requests for copies of the stories and pictures, so I had taken down the pages to purchase a few.

At the shop I found my trusty photocopy guy, and gave him instructions to make three copies of each page. As he copied, he admired the pictures and quotes. “Mandelaaa,” he breathed admiringly. I prompted him about the other two, Mother Theresa and Martin Luther King Jr. but he did not know about them, but he silently read their quotes and asked me questions about Peace Club as he handed me copy after copy. Finally, I was pretty sure I had all of the new copies in my hands when I saw him putting Mother Theresa face-down on the screen again. I fished out my copies and waved them under his nose, saying “no, no, you already made copies of her.” He just smiled and nodded, as it occurred to me that these copies were not for me at all! I just stood there smiling stupidly as he copied each quote, collected them in a neat pile in his own hands, and then handed me my originals. On the rest of my bike ride to Altonodji, I was filled with the hope that maybe the messages we share in our short hour with Peace Club don’t end with the students in that room. Maybe from time to time they hit a cord and they will be shared with others.

Now, I don’t necessarily think that a poster on a wall is going to change the world, or even a community. But what struck me about that little exchange was that this man wanted those words, and wanted those faces, close to him… somewhere he could see and read them again. I consider what these role models have done for me and my community, and it occurs to me that it took a lot to bring their stories, contexts, video footage, and lessons to me. I never before would have considered that amazing role models, especially people hailing from halfway around the world and or dead before my time, are a privilege to know. And this privilege is something people anywhere would be hungry for.

I was reminded of something a visitor to our house had said only days before. “People say that we Chadians love war; we are never at peace; there is never stability. Now they are surprised because it is all of the surrounding countries that are at war, and here we have some stability. Chad, who everyone thinks loves war...” True, in the little I heard about Chad before receiving this position, which was very little, it was mostly in reference to intense poverty and crippling violence. Now, during this time of relative stability but with the looming threat of Boko Haram in our midst, I am sensing a real terror of losing this comfortable sense of peace. I would never say that any country “loves war,” especially of countries that are ravaged by it frequently, on their own terrain. I believe that the large majority of people want to escape war at all costs, and I wonder if, in some small way, by providing my students with stories of people who combatted violence with love and with creative, non-violent action, we can help bring up a generation of people who not only fear war, but have the knowledge and tools to find alternative outcomes. And maybe, in some small way, being part of a club where they are given the novel instruction to “not hit one another,” our students already on their way. 

Inch by Inch, Row by Row

When I first rode onto the Village Altonodji campus in September, it was an obstacle course for my host father’s vehicle. The rainy season deposited enormous puddles on the roads and side streets that were a fixture for the first month of my stay. In our drive from the front gate to the chapel in the middle of campus, Samuel navigated effortfully, making sharp angles, though it was a relatively straight driveway, to avoid the deep pools of rainwater. I remember looking out at the campus, which was half hidden by tall green grasses. To walk from building to building, I was almost lost. I would search for an opening in the grass and follow the carved paths to see if they would deposit me where I needed to be, or if they would just lead me to water blockades.

I thought campus was beautiful. It was an adventure to navigate, and I remember it even smelled fresh and exciting! I eventually learned to walk slightly to the sides of the path, which were grassy and protected my feet from mud. I got used to rinsing my feet off before stepping inside. And I loved sitting around and watching the showers.

Then, rainy season ended. As a fellow MCC-ers described it, it was as if someone above us had just turned off the tap. The puddles dried up once and for all, and things slowly became less and less green. One Saturday in December I stepped out of my guesthouse, prepared to teach classes, when I was informed that it was “cleaning day” and there would be no classes. Following the groups of students to the academic side of campus, I found everyone taking turns with machetes and shovels, clearing the grasses from the yard and carrying them to be burned elsewhere. By the end of the day, the ground practically bare, though matted with a carpet of fallen grass.

In the months after that, the majority of the large campus became brown and mostly lifeless. The only stuff flying through the air were heavy clouds of dust… no more sweet droplets of refreshing water. As this happened little by little, I hardly noticed the transition. I became accustomed to this new landscape, and for most of my relationship with Village Altonodji, this is what I saw and what I grew to love.

Then, things started changing. I first saw it on my way back from the pump, bucket in hand. Two little boys, 6 and 8, were splashing a small plot of dirt with water from their buckets. I wandered over and asked what they were doing. They said it was a garden. Charming! I thought. I splashed some water with them and was on my way again.

A couple of days later, out my window, I saw boys and girls, some in their teens but many yet in primary school, scattered about with shovels, doing something with the land. They were digging furiously, lugging bucket after bucket of water to dump over the churned-up land, and shaping beautiful, rectangular mounds of earth. Within days, these mounds of earth were fertile beds, sowed with the seeds of beans and greens. I would stand there, practically with my mouth hanging open watching these tiny children creating life in the corners of campus. There were zero adults supervising, beckoning orders, helping with the shoveling, anything. The ten Mamans who live on campus were simply going about their business over yonder. This was entirely kid-initiated and kid-executed. I loved the combination of determined work-ethic and a child’s gift for having fun in all situations as I watched them at work, digging, screaming, and laughing. I would go out and watch, feeling awed and embarrassed that they were so self-sufficient and had no need for my presence.

However, being sweet and inviting little kids, they saw my interest and quickly prompted, “Why don’t you make a garden?” They pointed me to an empty plot right next to my house that they had arranged, they brought me seeds that they had acquired, and half a dozen hands helped me to sow the seeds. I was thrilled to have my own opportunity to cultivate life on campus, and also to have a reason to be out with the children in the gardens. I had just revisited the story of The Secret Garden in an audiobook version, and had been thinking about the magic that comes with tending to a project. Along with the kids, I lugged my bucket to the pump, but was always intercepted by a child or two who would pump for me and carry it back with me and splash my garden. Each morning when I woke up, I saw them already at work, my garden sitting there shiny with water.

Despite all their help, I have had the pleasure of tending to my garden from time to time. I water it each evening, I’ve set up beds of dried grasses to protect it from the harsh sun. And I admire it while I am out marveling even more at the other workers. There is so much to admire. Now, the gardens are rich with green leaves. They expand all over campus. The children are so innovative. The cans of MCC canned chicken that have been sent to feed the children at the orphanage have been put to great use. They poke holes in the bottoms and use them as watering cans. The older boys, in a single day, dug three great wells on campus for more easy access to water. They give consistent attention to the gardens and use them as an enterprise. I’ve learned that when they yield food, the Mamans actually purchase the goods in order to make the school’s meals.

There is nothing about the garden project that I don’t love. They have made the campus an oasis of life nearly half a year after the last rains have fallen in Moundou. The magnificent bright green colors, standing out against the dry sand and the dusty air is a beauty so poignant I can’t help but stare. And then, there’s this feeling of being part of a project that will yield results even after my departure. It reminds me to consider the seeds that I’m planting elsewhere on campus, in the minds and the lives of my students and my hundreds of little friends/helpers on campus. As the end of the school year looms oh-so-close, I am hopeful that any impact I have been able to make here does not stop when I leave, but will continue to grow and produce fruits long after.