The computers have not been working around here for a few weeks, which is why I have delayed in writing. See, only on weekends can I taxi up to the capital to use a computer. If I cannot access things on that weekend day, then I must wait until the next weekend to try again.
The last week or two have been slightly rough. Initially, I had become resentful of my principal and teachers for not doing their jobs well. Specifically, they were speaking Sesotho to the students more than English, both in and out of class, while castigating the students for not improving their English abilities. Clearly hypocritical. Also, an entire day of school was lost while students, all 150-plus, were ordered to cut down a single tree in the village and drag it back so the mothers who cook our lunch could have more fuel. Innumerable men there in Ts'oeneng are jobless, and surely would have done the work for a pittance, but we sent the students to do it. The same students whose parents struggle to find money to pay for their children to be educated here. How being sent for the wood educated them I am unclear on.
So those were among the reasons that caused me to sulk. The children acting like children I expect, but when the teachers are irrational it makes me irate. Later that resentment turned into homesickness, surely aided by the Surfer magazine a friend sent me. I dug into it and then wanted to be on a warm coast, in cool water somewhere, anywhere, so badly. I started thinking about carne asada burritos, my mom's couch, hiking with my nephews, listening to my friends play music, and on and on.
On Thursday, my principal walked up to my desk in the staff room and said, "Ntate Greg, you're not smiling. And yesterday I didn't see you smile either. Something is wrong." Then she strolled out. She never did pry further. She didn't need to.
I recognized that others saw how aloof I was, and I decided then and there that I needed to enjoy myself. I am not in control of the school, and though I can do my part to see that it improves it's not my school and I don't need to feel entirely responsible for its situation. I also recalled that as much as I am supposed to be teaching here I should be learning, about Lesotho, its people, its language. And I just may be a much better student than teacher. (Being a student is less stressful than being a teacher, that's for certain.) So I should enjoy being a student and stop fretting over my effectiveness as a teacher only.
Incidentally, I ran into a friend here in the capital, who also teaches at a high school, and he said the last few weeks have been the same for him. Even his teachers noticed that he was not happy. We have been here for the same amount of time, a year and a few months now, so perhaps it's just the trajectory of the experience to hit a little valley around this time. No matter, simply speaking with Ajith about our common sentiments seemed to help pull us both off the ground.
After that conversation, last night, I happened to read a bit of a book called 'The Road To Hell', which was written by a guy who spent his Peace Corps years teaching at a secondary school in Kenya. He started to become disenfranchised about his job after a year or so as well. Then he came to some understanding. "Back in the village," he writes, "I learned to go with the flow and enjoy myself. I dropped any pretense that I had anything to offer. I stopped trying to help and began to observe. And I learned some important lessons about economic development. I learned to respect people for what they did. People usually do things for good reasons, even though it might not be immediately apparent to outsiders."
I have not given up on the possibility that I can help some folks here in some way, but I have recognized that it's inevitable that I will end up doing eons more learning here than teaching. So I might as well accept my primary status as a student and enjoy learning on the job.