Slum Realities

Wow.  Life has really hit hard this week.  If I had to rate this last week on a scale from 1 to “What the hell?” I’d say this week has reached Apocalypse status.  I have had some of the hardest experiences of my life all wrapped up in these last few days.

It started last week, with a pack of brothers.  Me and 2 of my colleagues were walking outside our compound, when these three brothers were so excited to see us!  They were little kiddos, 3-10 years old.  They jumped on us, hugged and kissed us, and were begging for attention.  These were the most love starved children I have ever met.  They also were the filthiest children I have ever met.  One of the volunteers referred to them as feral, and that assessment was pretty accurate.  These poor kiddos scavange for food in the streets, their teeth are rotting out of their head, they are covered in skin wounds and lice, and the little boy climbing on me was soaked in urine. The families in this poverty stricken community look down on these little boys, and outwardly talk about discriminating against them because they are “too poor.” It was absolutely devastating to want to smother these kids in love, but be terrified of touching them at the same time.  I came home feeling horrible about wanting to wash my clothes and check my head for lice. On Monday morning, I found out that these brothers had been enrolled in our school, and I have one in my class.  I am super excited that these kids can have access to the education they deserve, but I also feel like a deer in the headlights wondering how to teach them.

Exhibit B for my tough week: This weekend I was washing dishes on the roof and I heard gunshots, followed by the most horrible sounds of screaming and crying.  A block away from my window, a woman was shot and killed on her way home from church.  Now, if you’re reading this – don’t you start worrying about me.  It was a gang related shooting, and the gangs have a certain respect for the teachers here at the school.  So I’m not in any danger.  But it was so sad to hear the shooting and the devastating aftermath unfolding outside my window. That’s the first death I’ve ever heard, and it was super sobering. It’s so sad that this is a reality that this community and my kiddos live with day to day.  Death is so normalized for them.  There have been a few other shootings since then, and every time I hear a gunshot I realize the harsh truths of living in a slum.  It’s not something I will ever get used to, and it’s so sad to hear a shooting, and then think about who might be dying and who will be missing them forever. That violence is what I see in my classroom every day, kids beating each other to solve problems.  It’s sad to think it’s only a matter of time before they are holding guns instead of fists, and I wonder. . . can I combat this?  Is there a way to infuse these kids with love and compassion?  I have to hope so. 

These shootings were followed by 4 days of horrible teaching.  I know there is a way to teach these adorable monsters, but I still haven’t nailed it yet.  Yesterday, my students had a mutiny.  When I started teaching they all chanted “No!” banging the tables, throwing things, and a few kids ran out of the class. 

Due to this normal chaos, 2 English teachers have quit.  There have been moments where we’ve wondered if the English program can actually continue with so few teachers.  And, to top off my apocalyptic week.  . . the director of the school walked out this morning.  She was new, and started the same day as me.  She came in with the task of helping the teachers teach in more progressive ways, whip the students into shape, and turn the community around.  I have not envied her position.  She came in with her fists in the air, changing rules and dictating the path to love.  While her ideas were great, her approach as an outsider rubbed all the women from the cooperative the wrong way, and she met closed doors.  So, today during school, she packed up and walked out.  We have no principal.  We have no leadership in the school, and we are all at a loss.  I no longer know who my boss is, where I go to with questions or who is here to support me and the other 2 remaining survivors of the English program. 

This week, I have wondered several times if I really meant to choose teaching as my profession. . . .on purpose.  And then at the end of the day, all the students give me hugs and kisses, my narcoleptic kiddo wakes up and does a ballet performance for me, and my little feral buddy shows me his accurately toothless self-portrait and is so excited he gives himself a high five.  And then I remember how much I love kids, and this job, and I buckle down, grit my teeth and decide to fight for this job and my little monsters.  I’m going to do like Tim Gunn says, and “Make it work.”