Times, they're a changin'

The American nine to five, getting up to sit in a cubicle and check e-mail all day, partly explains why I joined Peace Corps. I have two years here to let my restless early twenties pass away before I marry myself to predictable office life, but that’s not to say that work always leads to one climactic event or understanding after another. At the end of my first term of teaching though, I have figured some things out: cultural issues that I can address, needs at the school, and what makes working here great.

We have daily morning chores at school, which the boys hardly participate in. Instead the girls submissively take care of everything. I felt inspired to write ODE to the SWEEPING GIRLS:

Oh, how your daily sweeping
so soon sets me a weeping.
As you work off your ass,
the boys only study for class
and heehaw loudly about
their low-rise girl pants and drought,
yet for all my stomping and shouting,
the students change absolutely nothing.
Alas, do not despair of halcyon days;
One day boys will stop their idle ways!

I’m in charge of daily chores twice a term. Those weeks I battle with the boys to create some semblance of gender equality at school. The smirks on girls’ faces make it worthwhile, but I wish they’d speak up for themselves.

While I’ve taken some action in regard to gender, I’ve spent most of my first term observing. Now that I’m headed back fresh from meetings, it’s time to take on the conception of a library. We have some helpful books, but students only have one day a week to check them out. If they come when it’s not “their day”, teachers harangue them, even—yes, I’ve seen it—slap at them. We also do not have a complete inventory of books, many of which are carelessly piled in boxes. My to do list: take stock of our meager collection, organize it properly, and open the library to all students five days a week.

Mondays my Edzi Toto (No AIDS) Club gathers under the pine trees outside. They get my sex education spiels or play games. Sometime I rival Dear Abby—like the time we discussed break-ups. These are my best days. Malawians tend to speak evasively or disseminate misinformation about sex, STIs, and HIV/AIDS, but as a westerner, I don’t mind speaking frankly and truthfully about sex. I can see students thinking deeply about these questions—at least more deeply than my English reading assignments. There are few moments when I’m absolutely certain that my work leaves an impression, but these Mondays, I know.