2/16/05

One of the highest crimes that you can accuse a Peace Corps Volunteer of is cultural insensitivity. It's said (in one of the many books we receive during training) that Volunteers will admit to having poor language skills, not achieving the desired results at his/her job, even not greeting people and integrating well enough. Accuse them of cultural insensitivity, however, and the only thing you're likely to get is a fierce denial. We're here to work and share our culture, but also to learn about another society as well, and the accusation that we aren't being sensitive to the society's values is enough to infuriate most Volunteers, I think.

Today though, I found myself in a situation where perhaps I was being culturally insensitive, but as far as I was concerned, what I was being asked to do was flat-out wrong.
I gave a test in each of my four classes this past week, covering the first two lessons (basic greetings, nationalities, and a written passage on the Asian tsunami disaster). Before we began, I warned each class in French, "Si vous trichez, et je vous attrape, je vais deduire 10 points" (If you are cheating, and I catch you, I'm going to deduct 10 points). The maximum possible score is a 20, and considering that the class average is often below 10, I knew it was harsh, but I hopes that it'd serve as a deterrent. During training, we heard stories from the Volunteers who arrived last year, warning us that cheating was rampant in the Chadian classroom. One of the most annoying things for me is that each student feels the need to do the test twice, once on a piece of scrap paper, the brilliante, which makes finding cheaters extremely difficult. This is Chadian culture though, and the Chadian education system and I don't want to be insensitive. During the test, I did discover a few cheat sheets, and like I'd warned, I deducted 10 points from the tests of the perpetrators.

The surprise for me came later though, when I was grading the tests and discovered 10 others who'd done the same work, complete with the same mistakes, which made it obvious. It'd be a little too much of a coincidence to have, for example, five separate people come up with, "If I was sick, I would fly with the birds," and not suspect something. To me, sharing the same work on an individual test is cheating, and if you're stupid enough to get caught, I have no mercy.

Naturally, there were some disputes when I handed back the tests, and the affected students saw the fluorescent yellow "-10, TRICHERIE" on their tests, with people hotly denying having cheated. One student looked me in the eye and angrily declared, (in French, naturally) "I'm not a cheater." So, I asked for the paper that I suspected he'd cheated with, and in front of the class compared the two, noting the 11 separate errors which were exactly the same on his neighbor's paper. I told that students that if they have a problem with their grade, I'd be happy to go to the Censeur (Assistant Principal) with them, and let him make the final decision.

Apparently while I was in another class several of the students went to his office and railed against me, saying that I was being too harsh, that I shouldn't have penalized them like I did. As I was getting ready to leave for the day, my Department Chair and counterpart, Monsieur Enoch, called me aside. He told me that the students had talked with the Censeur, and that now he wanted to talk with me.

"If you see students cheating in class, you should give them a 0," he said. "If you notice it later though, you shouldn't be so harsh though. Maybe you can be less severe with them. You see cheating is very common here- it is part of our culture."

Now call me culturally insensitive if you'd like, but that's just plain wrong as far as I'm concerned. I told Enoch that I'd very clearly explained the rules for the test, and that if students chose to break the rules, they would suffer the consequences, culture or not. It may be Chadian culture, but I'm not Chadian, and I certainly don't teach like a Chadian teacher.

I was even more surprised a moment later, when Enoch asked if we could go and see the Censeur together. Monsieur Timon, the Censeur, was waiting for me. He rehashed Enoch's argument, that cheating was a part of the culture, and that perhaps I could go a little easier on the students. What he said next shocked me:

"English is a subject that's very complicated. Maybe you can allow them to cheat a little bit."

I may sound crude here, but that's bullshit. The Vice Principal was actually telling me that I should permit cheating in my classes. I'm not trying to make unfair comparisons between two completely different methods of education, but if the same situation had occurred in the States, there would quickly be one more Assistant Principal looking for a new job. When I was in high school, French was difficult for me, and math even more of a challenge. I don't think I ever earned higher than a 'C' in math classes, and I was lucky to pull off a 'B' en Français. That didn't mean that the teachers gave me special privileges, let alone allowed me to cheat.

To use a cliché, I stuck to my guns, telling both the Censeur and Enoch that I'd very clearly explained the rules to the students before we began, in French, so there was no chance of confusion. If I hadn't given them a warning, I said, perhaps I'd be willing to consider lessening the penalty, but it was absolutely their choice to cheat, and I have no sympathy. Frankly, I think they should consider themselves lucky- many of the other Volunteers simply give 0's, no questions asked- I at least give them a chance to possibly earn half-credit. The two men could see that I wasn't willing to change on this subject, and we agreed that Enoch would speak to all of the classes again, warning them that my rules are different, and I expect them to be followed.

As far as I was concerned the situation was settled, and I headed home with a clear conscience, and the hope that that was the most frustrating thing I'd have to deal with that day. I didn't realize it at the time, but Chad had another cultural slap in the face waiting for me, a taste of ignorance that I thought most of the world had abandoned.
The day before there had been a problem of some sort between Erthchey, and his father Marc, my host father. I didn't know all the details (and didn't really want to, honestly), but the bottom line was that Ertchey was forbidden to work for me for one month, thus losing his only source of income. I asked Amos, another of my neighbors if he'd like to temporarily take over Erthchey's job, which he quickly agreed to. Ertchey had been hauling water for me every day from the pump across the road, which was managed by an old man named Samson. In a moment of true Chadian logic, the city had decreed that since a new water tower had been built when President Deby was in town, and they wanted to encourage people to purchase water from it, all water sources would now be taxed, 10 FCFA (approximately 2¢) per bucket, including pumps and wells. Samson, who had been born blind and previously had very little to do, became the new guardian for the pump across from my house, dutifully collecting money for each bucket.

Amos went to get water for me, returning maybe 10 minutes later straining with two full metal buckets at 2¢ apiece. He told me that there was a problem- Samson had told him that Ertchey hadn't been paying him the money I'd been giving him. Considering that there had been a problem with Ertchey just the day before, I worried that he might be telling the truth, so I went along with Amos to go see the proprietor.

I found Samson not far from the pump, and asked him if Ertchey had been paying him with my money. He said that yes he had, but the problem was the extra money that he expected me to pay. Naturally, I was a little confused, and asked him what he was talking about. He told me he'd told Ertchey the price would be different for me, 25 FCFA for two buckets. I asked him why, expecting him to say that the buckets I had were bigger than most, or something along those lines. What he told me next still infuriates me, even as I write this the day afterwards.

"Our people here are very poor, but you're white, so you have money."

One of the things they tell us in training about Chadian culture is that losing your temper in public is highly frowned upon. Nevertheless, I lost it, and my limited skill in French was all that kept me from saying more.

"No!" I practically shouted at him. "The price does not change because I'm white!" I was practically ready to hit him, but I thought better of it, when I realized how it might look to have the American in town beating up a blind man.

I walked away with Amos, shaking with rage. I can rarely remember having been so angry in my life. I wouldn't dare be melodramatic enough to compare a half-cent's worth of water with more insidious types of racism such as apartheid, and anti-Semitism but for that moment, I think I caught a glimpse of what it must feel like. This was simple ignorance, and I suppose I'd hoped for better. Later that evening I spoke with Marc, telling him what happened. He was just as shocked as I'd been, marched over with me to Samson's bench near the pump, and began yelling at him in Moussey. I was able to pick out the words nasaan (white person), mboona (water), and ka-dvidi (wrong). Samson protested, and Marc later told me that he'd said it was simply a joke, that he hadn't really meant it. He certainly didn't seem like he was joking that afternoon, when he was demanding more money. Some joke- the truth is the prejudice; even over half-a-cent, is far from funny...

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