A Bit of Wisdom
on Me Talk Pretty One Day (Malawi), 20/Dec/2009 10:06, 34 days ago
“What was the most meaningful change that you contributed to during your placement?” asks my programme manager, Alice. It is Tuesday morning. I leave next Monday. We are sitting in my office surrounded by a year’s worth of memos, plans and reports, newsletters, resources, files and documents.It is my exit interview. I am being asked to reflect upon the successes of my time in Malawi and I don’t know what to say. Never before has an interview question left me so stumped for an answer.I survived. I worked hard, I completed my placement and I kept my sanity. But honestly, nothing much has changed. Development? Progress? What meaningful, positive change have I contributed to?“I managed to rid the office of rats,” I say. My programme manager laughs, thinking I am joking.It has been a tough journey at times. One of the crutches upon which I leaned was an old poem, one that I have always loved:‘A Bit of Wisdom’. Now, as I think back on my year in Malawi, the poem takes on extra significance. I understand it like never before. It means more to me now.I contributed very little, changed nothing and nobody, but I am at least a little bit wiser.A Bit of Wisdom“The problem is a lack of time; what is the solution?” asks the smartly-dressed gentleman standing at the front of the classroom. All eight groups of Primary Education Advisors seated before him begin to debate this question with earnest.Within a couple of minutes, all forty-or-so delegates agree that teachers should simply extend the length of the school day.“If they just did that,” argues one advisor, standing proudly so that everyone can get a good view of him, “there’d be sufficient time for the entire standard 8 curriculum to be taught before learners sit their final exams.” Broad, confident smiles appear around the room and a sense of success and collective achievement seems to fill the air. This group of advisors are on top of their game.I quietly open my notepad, calculate how many hours it would take to cover the curriculum and how many days exist within the school calendar before exams begin. Recalling my fading memory of the long form, I divide the first answer by the second and end up several minutes later by writing the number 9.5 at the bottom of the page.Nine-and-a-half hours of lessons per day might be asking a little too much of the teachers, I think to myself. It might just drive the kids insane. But I don’t say any of this aloud. After all, who cares for the troubles of teachers or their pupils? These advisors are doing what they do best. The solution is that teachers should simply extend the length of the school day. Done. These advisors are on top of their game.People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centred;Forgive them anyway.“So where are you from?” asks the market trader, smiling amiably. I tell him I’m from England and we engage in conversation about the Premiership, Manchester United, Liverpool, Chelsea and Arsenal. I tell him I support Birmingham City and the conversation ends abruptly.“So how much for this chitenje?” I ask, fingering an intricately patterned piece of fabric. “For you, brother,” replies the trader, “only twelve-hundred Kwacha!” He looks at me and smiles again. I do not smile back. Around the corner I can buy the same thing for four-hundred.If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;Be honest and frank anyway.“But why are you really doing this?” asks a local colleague, somewhat sceptically. He wants to know why I left my job in the UK, why I decided to come and volunteer in Malawi. He fixes me with a mean stare and then continues. “Will you get a nice promotion when you return home…? A big pay-rise…? Some kind of award…? Eh?”No. I will get none of those. I’m doing this because I want to help.If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;Be kind anyway.“This is going to be a close game,” says the fan sitting to my right. He follows his observation by asking what I studied at university, as if my choice of degree may somehow have a bearing on the outcome of this quarter-final. The sudden and tactless change of subject can mean only one thing...“I would like to study in the UK, myself” he continues. “Maybe, my friend, you can get me a scholarship. It doesn’t have to be three years, I’d be happy with two or one.” Two-one, I think. Two-one to Silver Strikers, final score. Not a bad prediction. I’m not really listening.I get asked to arrange scholarships all the time. It seems that many people here confuse graduates for admissions tutors. But it’s Saturday afternoon and all I want to do is watch the football. I’m just a fan this afternoon.“I’m sorry; I can’t help with a scholarship. But best of luck with your studies,” I say, before turning to the supporter sitting to my left and complaining about the referee. My friend, the aspiring student, gets up and walks away without another word.If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;Succeed anyway.“These classrooms were built by the Department for International Development,” explains the Headteacher. “You won’t find any more like these around here. The children keep throwing bricks and stones onto the roofs. They break the tiles. We can’t stop them.”A small child who should be in class walks straight past us and pauses to retrieve a pebble from the empty flower bed. He hurls it onto the roof. The pebble lands with a dull thud and no doubt the children inside receive a little shower of dust. I’ve experienced that myself. None of us says anything for a moment.“That’s why DFID don’t use tiles anymore,” continues the Headteacher. “They just use tin now because it doesn’t break so easily. No, you won’t find any more classrooms like these around here.”What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;Build anyway.“They’re like pigs,” argues the old traveller. “I’ve seen it! You can clean them up and bring them into the house, but when you turn your back they head straight on outside into the mud.”Incredulous, I don’t know quite what to say. There’s a great deal of racism in this world and I want to feel offended and indignant. I want to defend the people of this country. I want to distance myself from these abhorrent views, register my disgust. But deep down, my experience reminds me that there is some small truth in this man’s provocative rhetoric.Donated computers, so riddled with viruses and damaged by misuse that they are completely unusable, sit idle at Ching’ombe Teacher Development Centre. I have seen it.Books, tattered and torn, cover the floor of Mpingu School’s model library, established by one of my predecessors. Yes, I think to myself unhappily, I have seen it too.The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;Do good anyway.“So why haven’t we been successful?” I ask my colleagues. I want to know what I can do to help, what problems persist, what challenges remain. I want to help. The Headteachers sitting before me could say that it’s because of a lack of funding, insufficient training or inadequate resources. These are the answers commonly given to such a question, but on this occasion we all know they would be lies.On this occasion, I did my best. I invested a great deal of time—evenings and weekends—conducting the research, reading the documents, preparing the resources and planning the training. I took my work to the experts, humbly received their feedback and dutifully accepted their input. I recalled my own training and followed the advice of the experienced veterans and the development academics. I offered the best explanations I could and answered the questions with thought and care. I did my best.“So why haven’t we been successful?” I ask again. Nobody says anything.Give the world the best you’ve got and it may never be enough;Give the world the best you've got anyway.You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God;It never was between you and them anyway.Poet Unknown