8/23/05

My Dad calls at 7 PM, wishing me a happy birthday (the day before). Being able to hear from family every few weeks has made such a huge difference in my morale, and on special occasions like this, it's great to hear from home. The connection is often static-y, and there's always a delay, giving it a weird walkie-talkie like quality, but under the circumstances there's no reason to complain. As one of the few PCV's to have cell-phone coverage directly in their town, I have it better than many. None of the volunteers north or east of N'Djamena have phone access (with one exception), except for the brick-like Thuraya satellite phones which are unreliable at best, and horribly expensive to call. Sunday night chats have become a weekly ritual, and more often than not my parents, brother, uncles/aunts, cousins, and even a few friends (once or twice) will make the effort, and call.

I'm talking with my Dad, which feels strangely like being on a CB radio– the delay is particularly bad tonight, so we end each of our sentences with "break, and wait for the other person to respond. In between the 'breaks,' he tells me that my sister Hannah is working on a project for her French class, where she has to prepare a presentation on a Francophone country. I'm not sure why, but she chose Chad– maybe she knows someone there?

It's great that Hannah's going to tell her class about Chad, but how much can anyone really describe this place without ever having been here, let alone a 7th grader in a foreign language? This experience is so all consuming, much more than any full-time job. People in the developed world have a definition of what poverty is, for sure, but the degree and scope of the poverty in a place like this would be beyond anything most people back home could imagine. A place where most people's homes would be considered unfit for livestock back in the States can't easily be described in a 10-minute presentation. Looking at the spacious (but hardly palatial) homes of my family in photos, where electricity and running water are never a question, huge centers for shopping, entertainment and travel are no more than a 10-minute drive away, and schools offer something besides rote memorization and continual teacher's strikes, the inequality of the world seems so vast.

With a few clicks of the mouse, Hannah has access to all the information she could ever want on Chad. More importantly, she has the opportunity to go to school in a place where research and independent thought are valued– students would never do presentations on Anglophone countries in a Chadian English class. Instead, they'd be copying a lecture on the subjunctive mood or pronoun complements, which they'll never be able to use because they can't get past, "How are you?" in a conversation. This may sound a bit over-the-top, but the lack of critical thinking or problem-solving skills in the school system here is yet another reason which development in Chad is so elusive. If students never learn to think for themselves, they'll never be able to think creatively or be innovative– the Chadian educational system could never produce an Einstein or Bill Gates. Even Philosophy here, a subject where you'd think critical thinking to be essential, is little more than copying texts– i.e. "Plato said this...," "Socrates believed that...," etc. Despite our best efforts as volunteers, the system shows no sign of changing. Maybe that's what frustrates me about this place in every aspect of life- if it's obvious something isn't successful or effective why not change it? Why? Because nobody stops and considers that they may be a way to improve- there's never been a need for creative thought before, so why start now? The combination of that, along with the fatalistic, "it's God's will" approach, holds back any progress in Chadian society.

I see a perfect example of this happen tonight– Marc is trying to help Tanga learn the ABC's in French, and it's become a regular thing for the two of them to sit together, Marc saying the letters, and Tanga repeating after him.

"Ah- Bay- Say- Day- Uh- Eff," Marc says.

"Ah- Bay- Say," Tanga solemnly repeats, and so on until the letter 'P.' Each time she finishes, Marc orders her to begin again, starting over at 'A' each time she makes a mistake. I've never taught elementary school, but I can think of a dozen better ways of teaching the alphabet than what he's doing– Tanga isn't making much progress, and after awhile, the ugly side of Marc emerges.

"Zhee- Kah- Em," Tanga says.

"Non! Zhee- Kah- El- Em," scolds Marc.

"Zhee- Kah.... Zhee- Kah- Em," Tanga repeats.

"Ndak! An chak deh!" Marc shouts, switching to Moussei. Girl, I'm going to beat you! I wince.

"Zhee- Kah- El- Em- En," he repeats. "'Kah' like Ka-Idi, 'El' like Livana, 'Em' like Marc, 'En' like Nah-than-yel," he says, gesturing at me. I'm interested to watch, but don't want to be the cause of a beating, so I stay quiet.

"Ah- Bay- Say- Day- Uh- Ef," Tanga begins, So far, so good. "Zhay- Ahsh-, Ee- Zhee," she continues. Even though I know she can't see me in the dark I'm mouthing the letters, willing her to remember them all, and in the correct order, to avoid a beating.

"Kah..." Pause.

"Come on Tanga, you can do this," I'm thinking.

"Em."

Damn.

"An chak deh!" Marc yells. I can't see it in the dark, but hear the sickening swish-thwack of a green tree branch striking flesh. I hear a cry.

"Start again!" Marc snarls. Obviously trying to strangle her tears, it takes Tanga a moment to compose herself.

"Ah.... sob..... Bay..."

Now I'm glad it's dark– I don't Marc to see me fighting back tears of my own as I watch this spectacle unfold. I don't know whether they're tears of frustration, rage, sympathy- I just know that what's happening here isn't right, and I can't do a damned thing about it.

"Comment la journee?" Marc asks me pleasantly, never missing a beat. How was your day?

Once again I'm glad for the dark, so he can't see the incredulous look mixed with disgust I shoot at him.

"Ça va," I say in a strained voice. Fine. I want to ask, "What the hell is wrong with you?" I want to ask, "How do you expect her to learn with the constant threat of being beaten hanging over her head?" I want to reach over and slap him, to see if he thinks it'll help his learning process.

What can I do though? What can anyone do? Marc has always beaten his children, as I'm sure he was by his own parents and them before him. Tanga will grow up and beat her own kids. Why bother changing? This is the way we've always done it.

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