Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Blessings Come After Obedience

I have fun teaching today. After class I go outside and see all the S4s meeting in the grass. They have to travel to Mukono to take their final exams. They have mattresses and metal trunks.

The headmaster has a pair of scissors and is telling a girl to come to him. She is looking down and holding her head. He walks up to her and puts the scissors to her head. She fights, but just barely as the headmaster starts cutting her hair in patches.

I ask Richard, “Why in the world is he cutting her hair?” I notice there are more girls with patches cut into their hair sitting in the shade of a tree.

“In Uganda, long hair is only for married women, or if you have finished school.”

Africa is so crazy.” I shake my head. “This culture is so different from the one I know at home.”

“That would never happen in America?” Richard asks, pointing at the haircut fiasco.

“Absolutely not. In America it is a person’s right to look how they want to look. And if you are part of a school that has a certain dress code, it would never be the principal’s place to cut their hair. They would be disciplined in another way.”

It is true that all the young girls here have short hair just like the boys. And it is so surprising how much hair plays into identifying the gender of adolescents. Luckily the girls all wear skirts, so I can use the correct pronouns.

Now the girls have to go into town to even out their hair before the trip. I think the headmaster wants to make a good impression wherever they are going. The girl’s hair was maybe only an inch and a half.

This situation and my reaction to it lead to another talk about discipline. I talk to Richard and say the same things I said to Julius. That caning is lazy and ineffective compared to other means of discipline. The headmaster hears our conversation and walks up to us.

“I have a problem sometimes,” says the Headmaster, “teachers will send children out of the classroom as punishment. This means they miss their lessons. It is not a good punishment.”

“I agree. I think some of the schools I have seen do not know how to punish now that it is against the law to cane, so they have the students leave school. Sometimes with a disruptive student, especially when they’re laughing, I have them leave the classroom to compose themselves and return two minutes later, but never for the whole class.”

“I had a meeting with my teachers,” says John, the Headmaster, “about discipline and what we can do besides caning.”

I am so impressed. I think it’s great that they are talking about it.

“Most of the teachers think that caning is the most effective way of punishing a student. Because, sometimes we have the children cut the grass.”

Ugandans cut grass using a flat metal rod that is bent just at the end in a 90-degree angle. They swish the rod back and forth, cutting just inches of grass at a time.

“But now this teaches the kids to hate cutting the grass. That is why you see these Africans with bush in their yards, because we’ve made them lazy, by punishing them like this.”

I answer back, “They don’t like cutting grass because it’s not fun. If a person doesn’t cut their grass it’s because they are lazy or busy, not because at one point they were punished. If anything, you are teaching them work ethic and that there are consequences to their actions.”

He looks at me, “Were you never caned in school?”

“Never,” I shake my head, “but I was punished in other ways when I didn’t behave. I went through my whole schooling without being hit by a teacher.” I then explain again the concept of lunch detention, after school detention, extra work, missed privileges, etc.

“It is true, though, that I was spanked plenty of times by my father. But when I think of all the lessons I’ve learned from my father, I can’t think of one that was learned from being spanked.

“For example, I remember one morning when I was younger, my dad asked me to clean my room and I didn’t want to. So I didn’t, and later in the day I was on my way to play outside when my dad stopped me. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

“’I’m going to go play outside!”

“’Oh, sorry, but that is a privilege. You have to earn those, and you have not cleaned your room. Clean your room, and you can go outside.”

“I was so mad. I did not want to clean my room. So I sat in my room and did nothing in protest. Later I wanted to go watch some television. I went out into the living room and was about to turn on the TV. ‘What are you doing?’

“’I’m going to watch TV!’ (My favorite show was coming on).

“’But Adam, that is a privilege. First, clean your room and then you can watch TV.’

“I remember pleading with him, promising that if I could just watch the show coming on that I would clean my room afterwards. I promised up and down but my dad only repeated over and over, ‘That is a privilege. You have to earn it. First, clean your room, then you can have this privilege.’

“This went on all day, until finally I realized that my dad was not going to budge. I cleaned my room and was able to enjoy the small part of the day I had left.

“My dad didn’t make me clean my room by spanking me. He taught me such an important lesson this way - that you have to work in this life for the things you want. Good things come with effort. Blessings come after obedience, not before.

“On the other hand, when I think of the times that my dad has spanked me, the only thing I remember is being spanked. I don’t remember any lessons. I just remember, ‘Oh this is the time he used that ping pong paddle.’ or ‘this is the time I was spanked in front of my cousins and got embarrassed.’

“If my dad would have given me the choice of getting spanked and watching TV or cleaning my room and watching TV I would have said, ‘Hit me!’ The most effective discipline I received growing up was not physical.”

The headmaster shakes his head yes and looks out across the campus, thinking. “You’re right,” he says. “We do not want our students to hate us and that is what happens when we cane them. They fear us. That is not a good environment for a school.”

-

I walk towards to Volset office to see Erin, Kelley, and the nurses walking towards the school and I remember that on Wednesdays, Erin gives her class on Life Skills. Today she is talking about the immune system and how HIV affects it. I go with the group back to school and the head master says, “Back already!” He laughs and welcomes us to school.

The seminar goes alright. The kids are so shy sometimes and don’t participate. Erin gets annoyed at the lack of responses and the chatting going on in one corner of the room and I just think, “story of my life.” Erin does a good job. The kids are always asking me about Namata.

The seminar ends and we walk outside. The principal gathers all the 190+ students in a big circle. They each hold hands and John stands in the middle to organize a prayer. They are praying for the S4s, who are leaving today to take their exams. S4 exams are so important and determine if the student can continue school. (I think it’s like the FCAT in Florida for 7th graders and sophomores.)

The headmaster calls everyone to attention. “Our S4s are leaving today for their exams. Let us get quiet. We are going to pray to God.”

Something about the way he specified who they are going to pray to makes me feel good. Kelley and I talk about how great it is that the whole school can support their S4s in this way, and how this could never happen as a school event in the States, and how unfortunate that is.

-

The day ends and I start my walk back to Nsumba. I think about taking a boda boda but the walk home is a nice time to just think and sing.

I am almost to Nsumba when I pass a steamroller going in reverse. I look up and it’s Kenny, the friend I made a week or two ago. He says hey and I ask how he’s doing and when I’m going to get my driving lesson. He says to hop on up.

I climb up into the cab of the steamroller. There are two other guys already hanging from the roller besides Kenny who is driving. He gets out of his seat and tells me to sit down. He shows me a switch and makes the steamroller accelerate and then there is a joystick which controls the speed you go forward or backward. There is an illustration of a turtle and a rabbit to let you know which way is slow and which is fast.

There is a red button on top of the joystick with starts the roller compression. He tells me to press it and continue the roller backwards. I put my left hand on the steering wheel and turn my body around, resting my right arm on the back of the seat, just like I do in a regular car, and start moving back towards where I came from.

I’m laughing out loud. People in their yards, and passengers in matutus and lorries stare open-mouthed as they pass by and I just smile and wave. We go back and forth on this stretch of road on the roller. Kenny takes over again when it comes to the side of the road because we have to drive on an angle.

As we’re driving we yell out our conversation. Kenny tells me that one of the guys with us wants to become a pastor. He asks about my church and I tell him we don’t have any paid clergy. He says he wants to start a church. He says he wants that power, that you can heal people or give them the Spirit. He says he’s trying to find it. “Do you know how to get that power?”

I tell him that a man can’t give the power to himself – that it has to be given to him from someone who has authority already to act in the name of God. I tell him that I have that authority and I received it from my Father.

“How do I get it?”

I tell him if I were him I would go to the church and figure out for myself if what is being taught is true or not and if the church really is the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. “If you find it to be true, then you know where to get that priesthood authority.”

He is coming to church on Sunday. The other guys say they want to come too.

We drive almost to Nsumba and Kenny points out his boss. I ask him if I should get off the roller so he doesn’t get in trouble. He says not to worry about it. The boss calls him over and Kenny leaves the others and me on the roller for a minute. He comes back and I ask if he’s in trouble. “What? No, keep driving, he doesn’t mind.”

We pass by a moto-grater. It’s a long machine with a sled between the wheels that can be moved and different angles. It scoops dirt from the edge of the road and puts it in the middle of the road for the steamroller. It slows down as it passes by us to say hi and ask if I wanted a turn on that machine.

I hop on and ride for miles as he plows through the bush beside the road. And he lets me drive on the way back to Nsumba with the sled up.


I have photos to prove it.

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