Every day begins with bird calls, rooster crows, and a man singing the call to mosque from the valley below.

This morning, I taught computer skills to a group of teachers who had never touched a computer before. I wouldn’t be surprised if one or two had never even seen one.  Only one out of six working computers had Word installed. We used TextEdit. Teaching how to use a track pad is a whole lot more difficult than I anticipated. Holding down a shift key to make a capital letter was another struggle. Dragging with the cursor was a concept never before imagined. Although all of the teachers have a fairly good grasp of English, language was sometimes a problem. One teacher seemed to be having a more difficult time than the others. We found out later she has AIDs, which may or may not have had an influence. I have never met so many infected souls on one half acre.

The teachers were so excited.  By the end of the morning, everyone could open TextEdit, type (serious hunt-and-peck), delete/back space, shift to upper case, underline, and maybe save.  Cut and paste will wait for another day.

Before leaving for lunch, I went to the office looking for Andrew, the assistant director. I told him the day before that I had brought a new soccer ball (football) for the kids. I had deflated it so that it would fit in my suitcase. Andrew wasn’t there so I reluctantly gave it to the head mistress, Loy. Loy has a reputation for taking gifts home as personal property. I told her I had talked to Andrew and he was expecting the ball.

I joined Carly for the walk home. She was completely surrounded by little children. Two on each side held her hand. The rest tried to get as close as possible to this young blue-eyed muzungu (white person).  As usual, we walked home in a cloud of children.

William, the math teacher, had been after me all day to come and observe his P6 math class. It was clear that he had spent some time on this lesson hoping to show off his teaching skills. After we returned from lunch, I climbed the hill to his room just as a thunderstorm hit. William came out to tell me we couldn’t hold class. I asked him why not. “It’s raining.” “Pardon me?” “It’s raining. We can’t hold class when it rains.” He was visibly disappointed.

I went back down the computer lab to meet up with Noah (a UW science ed. professor) and Sarah, who seems to be something like a lead teacher at Lweza. The noise inside was deafening. The rain poured down on the school. The yard quickly turned into a torrent of water and mud. But it was the rain hitting the metal roof that made any conversation impossible. There are no ceilings in the rooms; the corrugated roof is fully exposed to the inside. Water inevitably finds its way into the rooms prompting a mad rush as papers, desks, and benches are moved to avoid the tempest.

After the storm, I returned to William’s room, but he was next door at the office. Immediately as I entered the room, all the students jumped to their feet chanting in unison: “Hello Visitor. Welcome to Lweza Primary Schoo”l. At which point, I need to say “Thank you for such a warm welcome.” They will not sit down until I tell them it’s okay. This routine was repeated in every room we visited. 

The lesson was about converting Km/hour into M/second. Ron led the class through several models frequently repeating a previous sentence, leaving off the last word which the students had to fill in with a choral response. Students were then brought to the board to work through a few problems. This was followed by William writing a few problems on the board that the students had to work through independently. Lastly, William (with my help) went around the room placing a check next to all correct answers. This is a standard lesson plan format taught at any school of education in the U.S. We aren’t the first Western teachers to visit Mukono.

I then returned to the computer lab where Noah was instructing three teachers. Andrew was there. As soon as he saw me, he grinned widely, while holding up the ball for me to see that it had been taken all the way to town to be inflated.

The last thing I did for the day was to register Hussein for his new Gmail account. We had a hard time filling out the on-line form. Those jumbled letters that save the site from spammers were hard to read. Finally, he got his sign-in name and his password. I showed him how to click “Compose” and how to write me a note. I then took out my laptop, opened my Gmail and there it was. Hussein beamed. I explained that it didn’t matter where in the world I was, if he followed directions, I would receive his e-mail. I then showed him how I could reply to his note. When he saw my reply on his computer, he made no attempt to hide his excitement. He announced to anyone who could here that he now had e-mail. Hussein is the only Muslim teacher at the school and is sometimes made fun of. Nothing serious, but I’m sure it hurts a bit all the same. He walked me all the way home and then continued on to his home in the village.

Politics

Loy has been the head mistress (director) for two years. When the former director left the post, it was assumed by everyone that David, the assistant director at the time, would be promoted to director. But Loy was friends with the bureaucrats in Kampala; David wasn’t. Loy got the job. David was eventually forced to resign. In the two years since Loy became director she has allegedly taken a lot of the kids’ tuition money for herself. She has been extremely divisive. She has refused to allow teachers to use their lunchtime to be trained to use computers that have been locked up for the majority of the time she has been at Lweza. Audits are not conducted because the auditor is on the take. The UW professor who owns the house where we are staying, bought the land that the school sits on. This has given him some say about what goes on at the school. He also has considerable influence with the school’s board of directors. This all has made for a tenuous situation. During our visit, Loy has been careful to be as charming as possible.

My last comment here is about a rather controversial practice demonstrated in virtually every classroom. Smart kids are moved to the front of the room where they are lavished with attention. The more challenged students are relegated to the back of the class where they are virtually ignored. The idea is that resources are limited. So are the opportunities. There is no time in classes of 100 students to spend effort with those who don’t “get it”. Of course, there’s been many negative comments around our table at night. In the States, no one is allowed to fail. “No child left behind.” But I’m not so sure Lweza’s strategy is wrong for the circumstances. Regardless, between p5 and p7, 70% of the students drop out.

We arrived home at suppertime where Mukassa did not have dinner waiting. He’s the most loveable man who is always in trouble. Eventually, he offered another good meal. We all take our malaria pills at supper.

There’s so much more to write about, but not tonight. I just hope the mosquito that found its way through our mosquito netting last night has found its way back out.

So there has been morning and evening for another day.