Today was the first day I got seriously mad. I yelled at buff looking local welders and I kicked two kids out of class. Temporarily.
It all started with the desks.
3 weeks ago Jack and I ordered 15 new small desks for our students. They were supposed to be ready the following week. We went to check on their progress after a few days and while slightly behind, they looked good. The place was filthy, with welders sitting on the floor all around us with sparks flying everywhere, we just had to step over them. Some of them wore sunglasses, some had nothing protecting their eyes. The desk bases were strong, and the right size. Strength is the most important thing because the desks get thrown around and they break. I was optimistic, he said they would be ready the following Monday instead of that Thursday. I could cope with that.
On the Monday we had organised a car to pick them up but a last minute check in phone call confirmed they still weren't ready. "Tomorrow they will be finished." This happened time and time again for 2 more weeks. Teacher Rose went to check on them one day and they told her they needed more money to pay for materials, even though we'd already paid half in advance. She didn't want to tell us so she borrowed the money and I found out about it later. This morning again the desks were supposed to be ready so Jack and I walked there before school. We could see some of the bases lying around, unfinished, terribly made, they looked as if I could snap them in half. The workers don't speak any English but they knew what the crazy white lady was talking about. They could hear I was furious. They could see the difference between "strong, good!" And waving my hands frantically at the new ones saying "weak, bad!" They could see me pointing to the terrible joints, and put their heads down when I said "3 weeks! 3 weeks!" I rubbed my fingers together making the money signal and made it clear that we were going home soon. When we leave, our money leaves. This must be finished today! Heads still down they nodded, but I didn't trust them for a second. 3 quarters of the payment had already been handed over, the desks looked shocking, they still didn't have all the material necessary and they were more than 2 weeks late. I was furious.
I left feeling dejected and started the day on the wrong foot. The kids were even more disruptive than ever. They fought in the playground, hitting each other with closed fists. I turned around at one point to see one of the assistants wacking the naughty children with a large stick. I felt sick. How on earth can you teach a child not to be violent when their punishment from those who they respect is more violence? I don't blame the assistant, that is the culture here so that's what she has learnt. I try to never judge another culture as being right or wrong, but I can't help myself here. It's wrong.
I had the class to myself in the afternoon and the fighting continued. The bickering and poking and smacking escalated and I saw two of the kids again throwing fists. I yelled at them properly for the first time. "I will not have fighting in my classroom!" I don't know where it came from. My voice bellowed. I took the two responsible by the arms and dragged them out of the classroom, they didn't come willingly. I repeated myself, "I will not have fighting in my classroom!"
The rest of the class stopped, stunned. They were quiet and well behaved for the rest of the lesson. The two boys outside came back in after about 30 seconds and sat at their desks, heads down, silent. My dummy spit may have in fact been quite successful, and by the time school finished it was back to smiles and cuddles.
The morning's desk dummy spit was actually quite successful too. We went back there after work with Jimmy, our big strong local friend (and driver) who agreed to put the hard word on for us. To my surprise all the dodgy joints had been fixed and almost all of the 15 bases had been finished. Apparently we can pick them up tomorrow. I just want to see them at school before I leave.
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