Exams – failures and successes

Primary 5 exam paper

The end of November is the end of the school year in South Sudan.  Since I arrived in late September, I have been teaching two classes, Primary 4 and Primary 5.  These are large (50+) classes with a range of ages from 10 to mid-teens.  A small number of my pupils are residents in the children’s home, but the majority are from local families who struggle to pay for school fees and uniforms.  These families are pinning all their future hopes on their children’s education.  Who can blame them?  This is a country which has seen nothing but civil war for the past 50 years, with no investment in education, transport, utilities or anything else.  One local man told me very bitterly that ‘this is a Sixth World country, not a Third World country’.  This area of South Sudan was particularly hard-hit by the Lords Resistance Army resulting in tragedy for all.  Many of the children from ‘outside’ the home are also orphans living with extended family.  After all the death and destruction at last they see a light at the end of the tunnel and want to take full advantage of the chance of education. 

As mentioned previously, conditions at the school are very basic and the teachers’ approach leaves a lot to be desired.  Earlier in the term I realised that there are huge disparities between levels of English in my classes, ranging from completely illiterate and non-verbal in English, to a minority of quite fluent and able students.  I attempted to divide the Primary 4 class, which has the most chronic problems so that I had the beginners and the pastor in charge of the orphanage and school took the high achievers.  Unfortunately, although the pastor initially agreed to help, it clearly wasn’t a priority for him.  He managed to take one lesson and after that pleaded ‘busy-ness’, leaving me in the same situation as previously.

Every picture tells a story.

If students don’t pass their end of year exams they have to re-take the year, putting an additional strain on their families, resulting in ridiculously old students in primary classes, or students dropping out completely.  I allocated the last two weeks before the end of term for exam preparation and mocks.  Then, last Friday afternoon, one of the teachers mentioned in passing that my two classes would now be out of school until their exams.  I rushed out of the staff room, grabbed one of my pupils and said that he was to let his classmates know that I was happy to continue revision lessons with them if they came to school as usual.  So, for the early part of the week I coached a small group of keen students.

The English exams for both my classes were two days ago (Thursday).  As I waited for breakfast, the pastor said that there was nothing to worry about and that they would all pass.  I asked him how he could be so sure.  He said he had seen the exam papers and they were ‘easy’.  I asked him if they were easy enough for someone who could not read.  That stumped him.  I was absolutely livid with his cavalier attitude.

In the morning I invigilated for Primary 5.  After collecting the papers, I had the sad task of marking them.  This took me from 11.30am until 9pm, with short breaks for meals.  To lighten things a bit for me, some of the questions show very clearly that we are in South Sudan and are amusing.  A particular gem was:

Doing well in my examinations this year I shall slaughter a cock for celebration.  (Re-write begin with ..If I ……………….). 

The papers are collected and its all over at last.

Needless to say, few students managed to correct this sentence.  28 students failed.  Only 16 passed.  Many gave nonsensical answers, with a clear lack of understanding of the questions.  I feel so sorry for the students and their families.  I mentioned the poor results to the headmistress, whose outrageous comment was, ‘That will make them learn in future.’  What about the teachers’ responsibility?  By hook or by crook, I will find a way to divide my classes in the next school year.

On the bright side, one student got a very remarkable 97%.  When I mentioned him to his class teacher, he told me that this boy’s parents died in the civil war while he was still small and he is from another tribal area (Nimule is a Madi tribal area).  Apparently he is top of the class for his other subjects too.  He is a living example of triumph over adversity.

Photo call

I don’t yet have the results of the Primary 4 English exam, but I expect it to be a lot worse than Primary 5.  However, yesterday I invigilated for Primary 4’s Science paper.  This involved going round the class reading the questions to the vast majority of students.  From the answers I could see, there was a complete lack of understanding.  This was their final exam.  At the end of the exam, they had to wait in the exam room to avoid disturbing other exams.  I took the opportunity to give them a treat by taking their photos.  This caused huge excitement.  I got the impression that this was the first time for most of them that they had ever had their photos taken. 

School begins again in mid-February, so it is a long break.  Ample time for my poor students to forget the little they have learnt, ready to start the uphill task again.  I have offered to give some coaching during the holidays, but don’t know if they will take me up on it.

A new volunteer whirlwind

Some time ago, a Hungarian called Gabor sent a speculative email to different charities hoping to come and use his considerable practical skills in South Sudan.  He is an architect and engineer as well as a journalist.  The email eventually came to Fulaa, who invited him to come. 

Fixing the solar panel on the roof in the sweltering heat

Two days ago Gabor arrived in a puff of noise, dust and smoke, having driven his motorbike all the way from Kampala in Uganda.  By the time he arrived, he and the bike were the same colour as the roads he had travelled.  The bike was piled high with a tottering pile of boxes and bags.  I had a crowd of small children around me when he arrived.  One tiny child burst into terrified tears.  I can’t blame him.  It was a startling sight.

Gabor has travelled and worked in numerous other African countries but this is his first time in South Sudan.  He had no sooner been shown his room than he was exploring the compound and surrounding area. 

Next morning, Gabor was to be found tinkering with a generator surrounded by boys.  Then he came to the medical room, where a new solar panel kit sits unused.  The medical room’s solar panel is intended to power medical equipment once this has been acquired. 

Tinkering with a generator

In his exploration of the compound, Gabor had found another broken solar panel and an old and barely functioning battery.  The panel needs replacement parts in order to work.  Unfortunately the kit in the medical room lacks some crucial components too.  Gabor wants to get a panel working and on the roof, out of reach of goats and pebble-throwing children.  It was the pebble-throwing that destroyed the old solar panel.  This will save the children’s home the cost of fuel for the current generator and mean that there is constant electricity, not just for a few hours each evening.

In spite of the hold-up due to lack of parts, today he was on the roof with some of the boys, organising cables and making a place for the panel. 

Gabor is also talking about running water….  At the moment we all use basins and buckets to carry water from the bore hole.  At the rate he is working, Cornerstone will soon be in the modern world.

This man is a real asset and inspiration to all with skills to share in the third world.

Another wedding

On Saturday evening, one of the staff told me that the church was having a wedding on Sunday and they wanted me to come.  The wedding was to be in a small town called Pageri about 45 kilometres away.  Cars would be leaving the church straight after the Cornerstone service.  She said, ‘please go to the earlier (7am) Mass so you will be in time for the car to leave at 11am.’  My heart sank.  I was very tired and looking forward to a decent night’s sleep.  The 7am Mass is in Madi, and the church is a 40 minute walk away.  But if I went to the 9am Mass, it always starts late and I am rarely back in the compound before noon.  Something in me rebelled.  I decided not to set my alarm back, but to go to my usual Mass.  After all, last week’s wedding had been a torment of endless speeches under a hot roof.  Did I really want to repeat the experience two Sundays running?

 

So, on Sunday morning I went to the 9am Mass, which, predictably didn’t start until nearly 10am.  During Mass I calmed down and realised that it would be very impolite and I would be letting people down if I didn’t go to the wedding.  It was likely that an 11am start from the church would actually be much later.  I could take a boda back to speed myself up just in case.  So that is what I did and was back in the compound at 11.50.

The service was over and people were milling around.  The cars had not arrived.  I got changed and waited with everyone.  I hadn’t yet eaten, so I got the chance to grab some dry bread and tea.  Then, finally the cars were ready, most of the children were crammed on top of the stacks of plastic chairs in an open topped truck.  Health and safety are foreign words here.  I was asked to go in a car driven by one of the elders of the Cornerstone church, who I hadn’t met before, but got on well with.  Finally we were off on the beautiful drive through the mountains to Pageri.  

Bride and bridesmaid in procession

To my relief, the wedding service was conducted out of doors with guests sitting under canopies, we were reasonably comfortable.  Most women wore beautiful local printed dresses and were a pleasure to look at.  The bride was resplendent in a most impractical dress which required the help of several bridesmaids to keep clean and avoid the muddy ground.  The speeches contained humour and weren’t nearly so long-winded as I had feared.  There was lots of music and dancing.  The whole ceremony was over within an hour and a half.  I think the ‘compere’ shared my views on brevity, because his introductions were punctuated with calls to be brief and stick to the programme.

Loading the lorry with chairs and children.  Local church to right

Afterwards we got back into the cars and went to the bridegroom’s village for the reception.  The village was off the main road, along a very small and bumpy path.  The village was made up of a few traditional round huts.  We arrived to the sound of whoops of sheer joy from the women who had been making the preparations there.  They came dancing towards us and guided our car to a convenient place to park.  The women repeated this process for each vehicle as the other guests arrived.  They had set up a canopy with labels for different categories, such as ‘invited guests’ (me) and ‘pastors’ and provided plastic chairs for us all.  There was a table for the newly weds and the pastor who had officiated.  

Local chief (rt) gives speech with translator (lft)

Presents were brought to the bride and groom.  The presents were of a totally practical nature, such as jerry cans for fetching water, basins, brooms and money.  There were more speeches, singing and dancing.  Then the food was brought.  This was a selection of different meat dishes and rice and posho.  I was starving and tucked in very seriously.  

As dusk fell, we were told that those going back to Nimule should leave.  I got into the car and we waited.  I asked why we were waiting.  The pastor who was driving said that we should all go as a convoy in case of bandits.  I find it easy to forget that outside Nimule, there is a curfew due to the unsettled state of things across South Sudan.  On the way back, all the cars had their indicator lights flashing and we stuck together closely.  

I could hear the children in the lorry, still highly excited by their outing.  It is highly unusual for them to get the chance to go anywhere outside Nimule, or even (for the younger children) out of the compound, so this was a hugely exciting event for them.

We arrived back, still in convoy.  The children were too excited to sleep and were still noisy when I dropped off.  The next day, there were very few people at the early morning devotions.  I wonder why.

Speeches, speeches

Usually, weekends here pass slowly with little activity apart from chores on Saturday and church on Sunday.  This weekend was different.

I woke on Saturday morning feeling that I must do something.  I called a friend who is a locally based missionary from the US hoping I could visit.  He sounded distinctly stressed on the phone.  He told me that this was graduation day for his pastor training centre and he would be very busy, but I was welcome to come and join them.  He and his wife have three young children who keep them very busy in addition to their mission responsibilities.  For some reason these children have latched onto me and adopted me as a surrogate grandmother after only meeting me for the first time a few weeks ago.  I find it very puzzling that I do not have this effect on children in the UK, but find myself an unconscious Pied Piper of Hamelin both to these children and those at Cornerstone.  It must be something in the water.

I got on a boda, which is the nearest thing to public transport in Nimule.  A boda is a privately owned motorcycle on which passengers ride pillion.  Eddie’s mission church is in the bush, only accessible by very rough, muddy tracks.  The boda driver contended with a large herd of cattle on the way, picking his way around ruts large enough to have destroyed the motorcycle, while I tried (and failed) to sit serenely as all the local women do, eventually giving up on my dignity and clutching onto the driver’s shoulders for dear life.

When I arrived, I found the mission church decorated with balloons and coloured paper, and the walls covered in texts from scripture all on the theme of the love of God.  The church was full of local families waiting with eager anticipation for the long speeches which accompany all occasions here.  They were not disappointed.  The ceremony started over an hour late, with a procession of the graduate pastors, in full academic robes, dancing into the church, singing as they came.  Then the speeches began, and continued ….. for a very long time.  My friend was succinct, but nobody else was.

The three children on another occasion

Then it was time to feed the many mouths in a serious logistical operation.  My friend's wife was asked to help serve food.  This was very difficult for her because of the competing demands of her little ones.  Luckily I was able to step in and take over the older two children.  This was amusing, as the eldest, is at the ‘dangers’ stage and very keen to talk about the extreme dangers of all sorts of things from tornadoes to bats.  The more teeth an animal has the better.  I have fond memories of my son at a similar age and stage, when he had a dinosaur obsession.  The younger sister is far more placid and was keen for me to experience the soft hug her teddy bear was able to give me.  The baby remained with his mother.  The food was local, including three goats, killed the day before.  They were deliciously tender.  The children had inadvertently witnessed the slaughter, but were clearly far less worried by the experience than their mother.  When it was time to leave, Emily thanked me profusely for looking after the children.  I was pleased to have something to do, and really enjoyed myself so it was no hardship.  When I returned to Cornerstone, I went to my room to find a bevy of children wanting to learn English, play the recorder or draw. 

On Sunday the whole town had been invited to a wedding at the Seventh Day Adventist Church.  According to the invitation the ceremony started at 9am.  Knowing from experience that this would be a time plucked from the air I went to 9am Mass first.  Afterwards I went to visit someone.  Finally at 1pm I went to the wedding.  The church was full, with large numbers of people outside too.  Ushers found a seat for me in the church.  It was extremely hot under the metal roof.  Speeches were in full swing and continued for another two hours, before the actual ceremony.  I was so glad I was four hours late!

Afterwards I was tired and looked forward to a quiet evening when I returned, but it was not to be.  The Pied Piper effect was still in evidence.  A repeat of Saturday evening occurred as large numbers of children appeared as if by magic, all wanting a bit of time with me for English, music or drawing.

Later on, one of the older boys asked about my day.  I mentioned the long speeches at the wedding.  It turned out that he had been there too.  He was wildly enthusiastic and grinned broadly at the memory of the length of the speeches.  I have to come to the conclusion that excitement over lengthy speeches is one of the peculiarities of the South Sudanese temperament.  I wonder if it is because, being such a poor country, it is a way to feel that they have had their money’s worth, without any cost.  Maybe, maybe not.

Animals at the home

Cow at the market

There are many animals in Nimule.  Goats are in the majority, followed by cattle.  The cattle are considerably smaller than European cattle.  There are also sheep, which are far less attractive than their British equivalents.  They have very little wool and large fat tails, generally covered in muck.  The goats by contrast are beautiful with lovely markings.  All these animals wander around freely, often deciding to stop and sit down in the middle of the main road from Uganda to Juba, causing major disruption to the petrol tankers and motorcycles which form the majority of traffic here.

At the home itself, I found a cow with very impressive horns named Sara, with her new-born calf.  There is a magnificent rooster and a collection of hens who are sometimes chased and killed for dinner.  There is a very forlorn dog called JP, who leads ‘a dog’s life’, much hated by all apart from the American Fulaa members.  I am no dog-lover, but even I cringe when I see how he is treated. 

The cow

A fortnight ago the cow and calf vanished without trace or comment from anyone.  I have now discovered that the cow is part of a herd belonging to the children’s home which lives further up the mountain.  She makes her own way to Cornerstone whenever she is ill or heavily pregnant.  She waits until she and the calf are ready to travel before making the reverse journey.  She is the only cow in the herd that does this.

Until last week the scene at the home and school was dominated by large numbers of goats and their kids, who came into the children’s home at night leaving piles of droppings everywhere. 

Then, at the beginning of one school day all the older children were asked to throw the goats out of the grounds.  They spent a happy half hour running around after the animals, herding them towards the gates.  It was a very amusing scene.  It turned out that most of the goats are intruders, taking advantage of an open gate to make their unofficial home here.  Apparently they do have homes elsewhere, although given the length of time they have lived here, they probably don’t remember that. 

Two of the home goats

During the course of the day, the goats gradually filtered back in through the open gate.  The next morning the usual piles of goat dung were in the corridors of the children’s home.  The campaign continued, but this time the children from the children’s home were told to check which belonged to the home, tie them up and report how many actually belonged there.  There are sixteen, including kids and one ram.  These goats now have ropes tied permanently around their necks to avoid them being chased away.

Today's dinner

A couple of days ago, during devotions (!!!), the pastor told the children to catch and kill the ram at the weekend for dinner.  This morning I watched as the older boys led the ram.  I was worried that the killing would be unsupervised and inexpert, and was relieved when the caretaker turned up and instructed them.  The ram was killed by having its throat slit.  Thankfully it was over very quickly and soon they were draining the blood into a large cooking pot.

Apart from the episode of the goats which I have just described, livestock are largely ignored by the human inhabitants.  If animals get too close, people throw pebbles at them.  There is no animal husbandry practised, even when the cow was clearly suffering an infection after giving birth.  Fortunately it cleared up by itself as there is no vet in Nimule.  This is not surprising as, even for humans, there is only one doctor in the hospital.

I find the neglect of animals very surprising in a country area where they could be a valuable part of the economy.  Animals and humans lead parallel lives which are very separate, with animals either ignored or treated as unwanted.  I can understand that people don’t go to the western extreme of treating animals better than their fellow humans.  In a poor country people must be pragmatic.  However total neglect is the other extreme.