Leave it to the Ugandans

Saturday was my last official program as an LEU member. We had a mass teacher training in the next big city over, Jinja, sponsored by a member of parliament, Honorable Fred. There were just the four of us, Erin, Elise, Rachel and I; everyone else had already gone home. Since we were a little short on people, we decided to ask some of our students to help out, three of Rachel’s and my Giants class, one of Elise’s students and one of Erin’s. The training went awesome, with about 120 teachers attending. We divided into two groups with Rachel and I taking half in one room with Ssembuze and Robert. I did one half hour lecture, and then Ssembuze and Robert handled the rest. I didn’t even need to be there. The coolest part of the whole day came when we ran out of chalk and I had to run to the other classroom to grab some more. I left Ssembuze teaching in our room and when I got to the other classroom, Fahadie, one of our other students, was teaching there. Elise and Erin weren’t needed; Rachel and I weren’t needed. The Ugandans had it handled; the Mzungus can leave now.

Freedom

A lot has happened. The day after my last blog, Rachel and I went to observe some of our teachers’ classes, just to see how they were applying the things we were teaching. One of the classes was actually a deaf school, being taught by a stern, almost grouchy old man named Mohammed. At one point during the lesson, a lady came in and announced, “I need your two smartest students.” Mohammed looked up from where he was helping a student and said, “They are all smart,” and went back to his student. The lady laughed and said, “Yes but I need your two smartest, one boy and one girl.” Mohammed, not even looking up, said, “They are all smart.” She left.

We finished up our Giants class about a week ago, which was said and inspiring at the same time. Ssembuze’s (that’s how you spell his name I found out) oral was awesome. When I asked him what he was going to do when we left, he said he was going to enlighten others. “You know, it’s not easy to help others to come out of the cave (he’d read Plato’s Allegory of the Cave a couple days before), but I have to do it. And I can do it.”

The next day we went to one of our Bweyo classes, which ended up being canceled. Flexibility is one of the most important virtues to have in Africa; life becomes so much less frustrating. So instead of teaching, we played football (soccer) with the students there. It was Rachel with about twenty girls against me with eight guys. My team one, mainly because the girls couldn’t decide if they were going to play football, or stand around and giggle. Some of our students were watching us, and in the back of my head it occurred to me that maybe what we were doing didn’t mesh with their idea of a teacher’s dignity. But then the ball flew towards my goal, and I was occupied with more important matters. On the way back to Mukono something slightly funny and slightly creepy occurred. But it requires a little background information. In the culture here, it is totally normal for guys who are good friends to hold hands. Totally fine, they don’t even think about it. So it’s something I’ve had to get use to, and I actually had gotten good at swallowing my initial repulsion and accepting that they weren’t saying what was coming across to me. I’ve actually gotten so used to it, that I’m a little worried about my image when I get back home. But to return to my story, one of the taxi station guys comes up and shakes my hand. And then holds my hand. And then strokes my hand. Yes, strokes. Uncomfortable, and funny at the same time, cause he was oblivious to what was going on, whereas I, with my American preconceptions about what it means when you stroke someone’s hand, was longing to put my hand in my pocket. About thirty seconds later when I had to play Rachel’s boyfriend, I wasn’t sure if it was for her protection, or mine.

Last Saturday we had a graduation for our students. It was a great day. Baker from one of my Bweyo classes promised to “keep the candle burning,” which I have no doubt that he will. It was so neat to see, not only my students, but also all of the students together, fifty or sixty people that are dedicated to making Uganda better through teaching. The best part of the whole day came when I walked Ssembuze and Robert and several other students to the library we’ve set up. It was the first time for both of them to be there. As they looked through the books, Ssembuze found something that caught his interest. They’ve been studying The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People and both them absolutely have loved it. I was standing just outside the door when I heard Ssembuze’s voice, “Eeh!!” I looked in and saw him running/dancing/hopping over to where Robert stood. “Robert!” he called excitedly, presenting the book he’d found, “Look, the 8^th Habits!” Yes, Ssembuze, it hasn’t ended. It doesn’t ever end.

I come home in a week. Standing high on the hill of retrospection, I ask myself what it is that I’ve done with my time here. I came here with only a vague idea of what I was getting myself into; I was going to be teaching leadership education. And I have; I’ve taught it till I was blue in the face, and then came back the next day to do it again. I’ve had some good classes, and some bad classes and some classes that have changed my life. Yesterday as I was sitting in the class that Robert and Ssembuze have been teaching together, my mind wandered and began to coalesce everything I’ve taught this summer, all the knowledge I’ve shared, all truth I’ve imparted into its basic, fundamental essence, such that if I was asked what I’d been doing all summer, what was important enough to sacrifice this fall’s lunch money, I'd be able to give an intelligent answer. I asked myself if I’d done any good. And looking into the eyes of one of the teachers as she struggled with a difficult question, but fought to answer it herself, I found the answer. I didn’t come here to teach, though what I taught was valuable. I came here to ask them two questions, or rather, to ask them to ask themselves those questions: why and how. Why are things the way they are? How can I make them better? Simple? Yes, like all things that are true. But nothing has been more awesome then to see my students slowly become liberated from dependence; to see the change in their eyes when they stopped asking me questions, and started asking themselves. I saw them become free.