I Drop the Rock

I’m having a hard time today at school. I’m teaching English and the kids are not listening very well. I think maybe my lesson plan isn’t very successful. The kids seem bored. I seem bored.

The S2s are especially rowdy today. It’s hard to manage a class when they have no idea what you are saying. And like I said before, sarcasm or clever words does not work in putting the kids in their place. I am beginning to think maybe caning isn’t such a bad idea.

When I end the lesson the kids all ask me for my phone number. The S1s asked me the same thing. I wrote on the board with chalk as all the students rushed to write it in their books: 077 GET LOST. Two seconds later they all laugh. “Master!” I let them know before I leave Uganda I will give them all my information.

A girl walks by the classroom doorway and says Muzungu. I was just ending the class so I jumped out of the doorway, which on this side is about two feet above the ground. I say, “Excuse me?”

The girl makes a pathetic attempt at hiding and I stand my ground and tell her to come to me. After slowly coming and saying, “Please, master.. no” she comes up to me. She looks so scared. I very calmly explain that my name is not Muzungu, but Mr. Adam. I let her know that where I come from it is very rude to refer to someone by their skin color instead of “sir.”

I turn the corner of the building and understand why the girl looked so scared. First I see groups of students all looking in the same direction. Some of them are snickering. There are two girls laying on the ground crying as the headmaster hits them with a long twig.

I am disgusted - at the children who laughed, at the headmaster, at the whole situation. I tell myself right away to not think or even joke about caning being a good idea. I try to fix my face into a neutral expression as I walk by, but it is difficult.

I walk up to the other teachers and ask them what those girls did wrong. They don’t know. They ask again if we ever do this in the States. I tell them that if that happened in the States it would be all over the news and in every newspaper and the headmaster would lose his job and maybe go to jail.

“Are you going to take pictures and get us in trouble?” they joke.

“But it’s not illegal here.” I say

“It is illegal to hit a child with a fist or cane a child more than ten times.”

“What kind of system is that??” I ask, “If the person caning is doing it with such force, maybe the student dies at nine!”

I ask Lydia later what the law says. She says you cannot cane more than five times. Later in the week someone tells me the limit is three.

-

I am in a lousy mood walking home. I am glad for the shortcut so I don’t have to walk on the road with all the other students. I walk on the road towards Nsumba just as all the students get out of Unique Standard High School. Great.

A group of boys walks by laughing, one of them is playing a harmonica. “What is this called?” they ask. Without looking at them or slowing my step I say, “harmonica.”

Kids stare and I keep a straight face. I think about how I have to be a good example because they don’t have much experience with Muzungus. But I can’t be bothered to look friendly.

I walk by a group of four girls who say, “Adam! Welcome back.” I tell them it is such a relief to be called by my name and not Muzungu. Just as I’m explaining this, a matatu is driving straight for us going so fast. There is no where for us to go before the taxi passes going at least 50 mph. It misses us by inches. There is an entire road but it is taking advantage of the newly smoothed area to the right.

I lose it and turn and scream at the taxi as another one right behind it wizzes by us just the same and I yell some more. I tell the girls we could have been killed. I pick up a huge rock and hold it tight in my hand. I will break some glass. I am waiting for the next taxi who thinks they have no time to be safe.

No more taxis or trucks come near me. It was probably just coincidence, but I like to think they didin’t want to mess with me and my rock. I think about how my parents or grandparents would not want me to throw any rocks and to avoid conflicts.

I think about how hard everything is here and how much I have to deal with. Such selfish thoughts. Then I pass the woman who lives across the white house. She has so many children. Volset pays her to fetch water for the house. She does this all day long, back and forth from the well with no shoes.

She says, “Oh Adam, welcome back!” As soon as I see this woman I realize how fortunate I am and how selfish it was to pout all the way home from school. I drop the rock I’m carrying and continue up the path home, shedding my pride with each step.