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Loosely the complement of "Home Life," excerpts about my time in an urban, public high school in Ghana provide insight into the defining activity of an exchange student's life.
School runs on the trimester schedule. I will miss a little bit of the January -March term, and I will attend the first half of the May-July term. Don’t worry that my April off will be idle; I have been told that plenty of homework is assigned during that time!
Today was my first day of school. The school itself can most kindly be described as nightmarish, but I was blessed by finding some very good friends. My class of 67 had 11 absentees today, which everyone seemed to consider normal. The day is split into five class periods with breaks after the second and fifth. I am taking two electives (history and extra math), but during the other two electives (geography and economics) I sit in the classroom and do homework. Thus, I have one “free” period on Monday and Tuesday and two on Thursday and Friday. The last hour of every school day is a study hall, and Friday we get out at 2pm, which is two hours early. Corporal punishment is beyond commonplace here; most of the kids in my class were caned by three different teachers today, and we only have five teachers in a day. Teachers use a yard-long, flexible wooden rod to hit students’ backsides for coming to class late or unprepared. Because I am an exchange student, I don’t get caned, but watching this all day was torturous enough. Basically, each 70-minute class period was either spent writing dictated paragraphs (i.e. history) or organizing the students to be caned. Thankfully, I struck up friendships with two girls in my class. One of them, Ida, is the class prefect, and the other, Baaba, is in all of my classes. I ate lunch with Ida and her friends, and I followed Baaba around to the various classrooms.
I am very glad to be able to call my first day “uncommonly bad,” as the two since then have been completely different; yesterday and today have been much more like what I expected (from reading former exchange students’ blogs). They have been dull and not very productive because the teachers do not show up, but they have not been scarring like Monday.
Yesterday was the first day of the term that they checked whether students had paid this term’s tuition before allowing them to enter the school. Thus, our class was half its prior size (a mere 29 students). Knowing that so few kids would be present, the elective math teacher did not show. Together with my one Tuesday “free” period, that made for a day of only core math and a double-period of social studies. Core math is taught by a man that makes little sense, focuses entirely on formulas, insists students complete problems using his method, and doesn’t understand my accent when I speak. This coupled with the material (tedious interest and tax calculations) makes for a mildly boring and frustrating class, especially since math is my favorite subject. I hope elective math will be better, but I have not yet met the teacher, so I don’t know. Social studies, on the other hand, is taught by an older teacher who lectures rather than dictate notes, which is refreshing after the scribble-fest of Monday’s history class. I really like teacher, so the class was rather unexpectedly pleasant.
Today began with Assembly, in which all of the students (more than a thousand total, spread over three grade levels) dragged chairs into the Assembly Hall and sat for an hour-and-a-half. The event was a modified Christian church service, with several long prayers, a small reading from John, some uninspiring preaching about being good little children, and an extended period of announcements (basically a rant) from our headmistress about misbehaviors of various students.
The elective math teacher did not show again, and the teachers had a meeting during the school day, so our English teacher never came, and our Chemistry teacher was forty minutes late. Nevertheless, I think I like his teaching style and it is certainly nice that he understands my accent. The two full classes we had were core math and history. In core math, I followed along better than yesterday, and I did fine on the classwork, but I was no more impressed with the teacher. History consisted of a long introduction to a set of dictated notes. Before getting into the notes, though, the teacher wanted to know the grades people had gotten on the final exams, and since our history class probably has eighty students, the process of going through the roll took the remaining time in the class period.
Having survived the morning commute, I march across the school compound from the entrance to my classroom. The compound is made of several blocks, or one-story rows of classrooms that share walls. The Form 2 (second-to-last year of high school) General Arts (my class tract) Block has around eight large classrooms. A couple of buildings are two-story, but most are blocks like mine. My class’s classroom might be a 30ft by 30ft square with a 15ft-high ceiling. The walls that are not shared are screened windows (no glass), meaning that only two (the front and back) walls are finished. Yellow and unadorned but for some graffiti, the walls provide only a whiteboard in the front of the class for the teacher to use. About sixty unpainted wooden desks in various stages of disrepair are stuffed into the classroom; all of them had chairs attached at one point, but some in the back of the room now require plastic or wooden chairs to be dragged in front of them for students to sit on. Except for the plastic ones, all chairs are flat wooden boards, and it takes me less than two minutes of sitting to grow uncomfortable.
What do you and your friends talk about? I bet you really do stand out. Are most of them Christians?
With all of the down time in Ghanaian schools, conversations cover many topics. A decent amount of time is spent discussing the differences between Ghana and America, but plenty is also devoted to complaining about certain teachers, debating how much homework is really necessary, and even talking about religion. I know of one Muslim in my class, and nearly every Ghanaian is either Christian or Muslim. Three or four of my friends are Jehovah's Witnesses, but I promise I've only been offered one pamphlet! I was approached yesterday by a kid in my class (with whom I've had a decent conversation in the past) and interrogated (at least that's how it felt) about why, even though the Bible commands women to cover their heads while they pray, I don't do that. It was slightly uncomfortable, but I'm planning to pull out Romans 12-14 on him next time he bothers me.
Tuesday saw my first gander into the school library's novels department. With Advanced Placement (AP) English looming next year, and with my ridiculous amount of free time, I decided that books would be the most productive and easily set-up activity with which to engage myself. Chemu Secondary School boasts a whole three shelves of unsorted novels and, in their shadow, some luxurious folding wooden chairs adorning a cafeteria table. The benefactor for this wealth of literature was Cargill--a cocoa exporter, I believe--not Carnegie. None of this was especially surprising, though, and the occasional gust of morning air made the room almost pleasant. The books don't look too bad, and the shelves are certainly stuffed enough to carry me to June. Having enjoyed Gaiman's fantastical masterpiece over the weekend, I contented myself to struggle through Jonathan Swift's Gulliver's Travels, which, I keep telling myself, will assuredly present itself during a high school or college English class. It is quite bearable, and I am passed the halfway point, as I write this journal entry.
Wednesday brought another Assembly, by which I was no more impressed than its predecessors. The sermon centered on setting an example, and this subject gave the speaker a wonderful opportunity to reiterate the importance of being good little boys and girls. The highlight of Assembly, by far, was during Announcements--the headmistress' unrestrained rant at the end of the ceremony--when, in the middle of an extended admonishment about punctuality, a tardy student came bounding through the sweaty congregation; he had just arrived at school and needed to reach the back of the crowd to find a seat. When he heard the subject of discussion, he added a grin to his gallop routine.
Today, during one of my "free" periods, I had a conversation with two classmates about the disadvantages of the Ghanaian education system. Neither of the products of said system was exceedingly impressed by it; indeed, they were--in my mind, duly--disenchanted by the lack of accountability and ineffective curricula and materials. In Ghana, textbooks are outdated books of text, which the students must buy and try to memorize, in hopes that they will be able to regurgitate enough text to pass the exams. (There are multiple-choice components to the tests, but the method of preparation is the same.) If and when this is not achieved, the students are blamed because the teachers are not required to even show up, much less adequately ready their pupils for the assessment. However, scores from the WASSCE (standardized exam for exiting high school) do reflect on the school, but instead of this motivating the school to more effectively teach the material, it results in a large proportion of Wednesday sermons being devoted to statements like, "Don't give up; with Jesus, you can study hard enough to pass the WASSCE in subjects you think you're not good at."
One question to tackle today: What is school really like? Is it all copy-from-the-book, then exercises? Are there class discussions?
During productive class periods, teachers either slowly read aloud, or lecture on, course material. When they read aloud, it is usually their adaptation of the textbook, but sometimes it comes straight from the book. In these instances, the white board is a place to write words that the students might have trouble spelling. Other teachers prefer to lecture on material, using the white board to outline the lesson and draw diagrams. Sometimes, teachers combine these two strategies. In math classes, example problems are hand-copied onto the board and into notebooks, and then the teacher guides the solution process. Maybe five times a week, teachers assign exercises. Problems are copied into small notebooks and completed beneath the question's text. These books are then collected and hastily graded by the teachers. Tests are conducted in the same manner. Regarding discussions, they are infrequent in most classes (except English, in which comprehension questions are hotly debated), but instructors often ask individual students to recall definitions, etc. from prior school terms. These are recited to the class before more material about them is covered.
My most difficult class is History, so the teacher's Wednesday announcement of a test was not welcome. Even worse, he told us it would be the following Friday, which gave me a whopping two days to memorize six weeks' worth of material about the Western Sudan, West African Coastal Kingdoms, prehistoric inhabitants of Ghana, and sources of Ghanaian history. As such, I entered a state of mild mania, ripping out pages of my notebook to tear into makeshift flashcards. The resulting stress and sleep deficit continued until Thursday afternoon, at which point I finished the flashcards and was, ostensibly, prepared for the exam. But Friday--yesterday--we didn't have the assessment. In fact, the teacher did not even say the word "test" until the end of the period, when he decided to give one on Monday. That was a problem, though, because I will be in Accra for my visa extension on Monday. So, I told him after class and, rather than entertaining my request to make it up on Wednesday, he assured me that he would postpone it altogether. I confess to be, on the whole, unsure of whether I am upset or relieved.
Next, I will highlight a pair of appreciated differences regarding school. For starters (and main dishes and snacks), the cafeteria is always open. The so-called “Canteen” is a grubby building with wooden tables and benches, and food sellers—nearly identical to those outside school walls—are entrepreneurial enterprises scattered in and around the shelter. The vendors take home their profits, so they ask few questions when hungry pupils show up during class periods. This is great for free periods when I get bored of the library. Secondly, I enjoy the breeze we get through our glassless windows. Although Africa is hot, Tema’s proximity to the ocean and few tall buildings make it ideal to receive all the wind the Atlantic has to offer. I am usually overheated, but the periodic gusts of cool air are enough to make our crowded classroom almost comfortable.
Wednesday’s English class took place in a different classroom than usual. Located at the other end of our block, this one was equipped with power outlets and four light bulbs, as compared to our one. I believe its position closer to the modern facilities on campus—computer lab, offices, etc.—accounted for its enhanced electrical supply. The teacher’s lesson plans required use of a stereo, necessitating our move. Usually, this futuristic classroom is reserved for the Home Economics students, whose use of sewing machines and other appliances makes power outlets a must. We lowly General Arts kids are reduced to our humble white-board and notebooks. Indeed, teachers demand a fee for all photocopied tests, and our inordinately high school fees mysteriously pay for no school supplies, although the ladies in the Canteen will gladly sell anything you need.
One class I do not take is Agricultural Science, since Chemu is currently lacking a qualified teacher for the post. However, on Thursday, I got a taste of the material covered in this course. Because Biology, Chemistry, Physics, and Agricultural Science are all examined together as “Integrated Science,” the Biology teacher reviewed a little Agricultural Science, in hopes that it might improve our performance on our finals. According to her, the two areas of most importance are the vocabulary terms for various animals in two stages of life: pregnancy and death. I learned that when with child, chickens are “in-lays,” pigs are “in-pigs,” cows are “in-calves,” and goats are “in-kids.” I admit the definitions of pork and beef came as a review.
This week, Chemu was tasked with facilitating examinations for all 2,000 attendees. Within each grade level, kids were placed in 35-person groups and assigned to classrooms by alphabetical order. A scowling teacher marched into our room at noon on Tuesday and barked that we were to arrange the desks in a 5 by 7 array. As our classroom is usually supposed to accommodate 67 students—not that there are enough chairs on days with good attendance, but that is a different story—this process involved relocating numerous desks to outside the room. Overflow desks from ours and other rooms were positioned in long rows in a large covered plaza/hallway on campus. For the next month, this area will be occupied by final-year students taking their West African Secondary School Certificate Examination (WASSCE). (This exam extends into non-final-year students’ school vacation, which begins at the end of next week.) All told, more desks were needed than before because school attendance during exams improves drastically. For this reason, a carpenter has been working all term, removing old wooden slats from a heap on campus and hammering them back into usable desks. Under the blazing noonday sun, students lugged desks (which have attached chairs) around school grounds, carefully picking their way over uneven dirt and gravel.
Unsurprisingly, my name did not make it onto any of the lists for examination room assignments. The printed lists were posted Friday, so I approached the Administrator at the end of last week to ask for a placement, and he requested I return Monday morning. I tried his office at 8am and 11am Monday, and he was not there either time. On my way out of school, I ran into him (he had been late on account of the rain), and he told me to return Tuesday morning. Midday Tuesday, the women sitting in his office informed me that he was in Accra for the day. They directed me to the teacher in charge of examinations, who was in a locked room. After Abigail and I hammered on the door for a while, he came out and sent us to yet another teacher. This man commanded Abigail to fetch a pen, and he walked us to the last classroom on the list and ordered me to use the pen to write my name at the bottom of the page. My thus-assigned testing room is located in the uncompleted block, which has unpainted cinderblock walls, a roof, and no windows or doors. It might be surprising, then, that this was the placement I had hoped for. Although it is not pretty, the unfinished construction affords this building terrific airflow, providing nearly-ideal conditions for me to concentrate.
Wednesday morning my friends asked me if I had read the Literature books in preparation for Wednesday’s English final. My answer was no, I had never gotten Literature books. They lent me copies of the study guide books they were using to cram for the test, and I familiarized myself with a couple of the works about which multiple choice questions would be asked. Fortunately, the Literature portion is small. Otherwise, the test included grammar, comprehension, and a long response—I chose the essay prompt, but there were also article and letter prompts. As a native English speaker, I had an advantage on the grammar because the correct answer usually sounded natural to me. Comprehension is not my forte in America, but I think I did alright, anyways. The comprehension and long response were in the open-ended portion, which came in the morning and lasted 2.5 hours. Later in the day, we had 1.25 hours to complete the multiple choice questions. CAPA English finals are one-hour essays—torturous (for me, at least), but only 60 minutes at the end of each semester. These are monsters in comparison.
Also different is the provision for an environment conducive to successful testing. On some scores, Ghana is better for me: I would love to always take finals in a pavilion; I find natural light and outdoor noises less distracting than artificial light and forced silence. However, much less effort is made to eliminate disturbances. For instance, our proctor’s cell phone rang during our exam, and he answered the call and began jabbering in Twi. In addition, the sun was shining in on some desks on one side of the classroom, and a teacher disrupted everyone by ordering various shaded students to trade desks with kids in the sun. But the most distracting are test corrections. As students in other classrooms are taking the test, they notice typos in the problems and report the mistakes to the appropriate teacher. That teacher then must go to every other classroom and relay the correction to the other 600 pupils in that grade level. Whenever such a journeyer arrives, all work stops, and everybody flips through the test booklet to find the questioned questions. Then we all try to remember what we were doing before noting the tweaks.
A third difference is the timing. To make the tests harder, time limits are imposed such that not all people finish. Thus, exams are harshly timed. Yet this is African time, so nothing is rigid. Of my experiences, this combination of harsh and flexible is unprecedented. When we are nearing the end of the allotted time, the proctor instructs us to “get ready to stop work.” In response, students call out requests for five, ten, or thirty minutes. Although proctors never expressly agree to lengthen the test period, determined students can accomplish a good deal of scribbling while classmates negotiate for time extensions.
Yesterday’s assessment was on elective math, and today’s was core math. As it turns out, end-of-term exams in Ghana deal very little with the term’s material. Mostly, they mimic WASSCE’s variety of questions in hopes of preparing kids for that all-important test. Unfortunately, I was not here for the first half of high school, and the American curriculum is different, so many problems were simply skills I have never learned. Thankfully, I could figure out the majority of them.
I was dismayed that the necessary knowledge was, in most cases, neither reviewed nor mentioned ahead of the examination. Therefore, I could not have self-studied to prepare myself. Nevertheless, I am grateful that most problems proved possible, and I am especially glad that I only ran out of time on one section.
Exams this week were rough in and of themselves, but fortunately, I kept my wits about me and did not become frantic. We had one test each day. With the exception of Monday’s history exam, none of the assessments focused primarily on material discussed this term. Topics for Social Studies included adolescence, reproductive health, and conflict resolution, all of which are Health Class subjects in American curricula. Among other things, Integrated Science tested simple machines and plant reproduction, which might have been skimmed over in 4th and 7th Grade Science, respectively, but those years were not characterized by particularly rigorous science instruction. Journaling in Microsoft Word semi-weekly provided me most of the answers to the Information and Communication Technology questions. And today’s Physical Education exam was a mix of Ghanaian soccer trivia and skeletal system knowledge. All in all, it is unreasonable to suggest I could have been fully prepared. Knowing that I did my best is what allows me to reflect on this week with, if not total satisfaction, at least content apathy.
Panning out to the broader picture of Chemu during Finals Week, the most applicable illustrative analogy is a zoo. Teacher supervision was nearly as nonexistent as foreknowledge of information such as assigned examination rooms. Because different classes needed to take assessments for their various elective classes (and individuals within a given class generally have identical electives), my class was supposed to be assigned to a specific room in which we would take all of our elective subjects’ tests. However, we encountered several problems. Firstly, the classroom we should have occupied was often inhabited by other students who were either taking their own electives’ exams or studying in the down time between tests. To compound that, our class contains 67 kids—twice as many as is permitted in any individual room—so two classrooms usually had to be found before testing could begin. As soon as a student heard rumor of a room assignment, everyone stampeded to the fabled location to reserve a desk. Because fetching furniture was the preserve of the losers, this race was taken very seriously. Additionally, the competition culminated in a time of war, during which any seats inadequately guarded were swiped. Gradually, the mayhem would mellow into noisy conversation and studying once more; that is, of course, until the next whiff of relocation was scented.
Eventually, a proctor would appear in the doorway, growl at us to straighten the rows of desks, and hand out the test. After time ran out, papers were collected and students filed out. Backpacks were disentangled from their heap before groups of friends meandered to the Canteen to discuss the exam over greasy bowls of rice. There were no worries about time; although subsequent tests were said to be “right now,” suggestions that we return to the room were always met with, “after we finish eating.” Indeed, on no occasion did I ever reach the classroom fewer than fifteen minutes earlier than the proctor.
Having driven by my school yesterday, my host father decided there was no point in my going until next week. The first week of every term is for tidying the campus, and not too many people show up. Therefore, I will start next Monday.
Monday we had no classes on account of the annual “Handing Over” Ceremony. The prefect positions were officially handed from seniors to their elected successors in the junior class. The occasion functioned as a Graduation Ceremony in a school system in which students leave secondary school with a list of WASSCE grades, not a diploma. Those exams finish, for some students, today, after having started in early April. Others, such as those in the Home Economics major, will be tortured for another couple of weeks. The ceremony itself was dull. Predictably, it started late, so that the sun was strong enough that I could see my shadow despite sitting under the outdoor canopy. Meaningless names of departing prefects were called over the microphone while my friends and I compared how much sweat had accumulated on our legs. New prefects made vows similar to those at religious rites, promising the Holy Trinity they would perform their duties. Various school staff members roamed the aisles of bored students—who had been, quite literally, beaten with sticks to mandate their attendance—taking photos to document the event. The proceedings did display the school’s caba and slit outfit, which senior girls were instructed to wear, as well as the boys’ formal getup, which I can best compare to an Indian sari. Both ensembles were made of a yellow cloth printed with a green lattice and the school’s shield.
The school compound’s gates were opened after the service ended, so most kids gradually left. My host father picks me up, though, so I stayed in my classroom until dismissal time. Near the end of the day, the Drama Club entered the room to rehearse. Except for the Visual Arts major, which is populated by so-called “foolish boys,” Ghana makes little accommodation for students wishing to express artistic talents. The Drama Club appears to be run by one theater-oriented, male student. Those on stage Monday seemed to be newbie girls that the leader was coaxing to improvise a scene in which a tribal queen seeks advice from a council of elders. The actresses said and did little, until one girl in the audience traded places with one on stage. This substitute was energetic and full of one-liners. She lived for the spotlight. A decade in this behaviorist educational system had not killed that spirit.
The teachers are on strike. Starting today, they broadcasted to the Ghanaian public, they will not be going to work until a pay raise is seen. Yet it seems that some are silently breaking the picket line. Yesterday, our Biology teacher told us not to tell the outside world about the teachers that would be coming despite the announced protest. None of my three teachers scheduled for Fridays came today although two left assignments for us to do in their absence. My friend told me that the strike could last as long a month, in which case my last couple of weeks at Chemu Secondary School would be even less productive than their predecessors. I am not sure how notable the difference will be next week. Friday attendance is never particularly good, so today may not have been a good indication of how many teachers will show up.
I am no longer the only light-skinned girl at Chemu since last Friday when two Koreans joined the ranks. In my two fleeting exchanges with them, I did not catch what they are doing or how long they will stay. They always walk together, which is to be expected, but it reinforces my notion that my isolation was beneficial. I had no countrywomen to speak and spend time with, and that forced me to seek Ghanaian friends to a degree I suspect they will not experience. Nonetheless, they appear outgoing and poised, so I think they are likely to bond with their other classmates.
I now have three-or-so weeks left with my classmates. After that, I will pass my last two weeks with my host family before taking to the skies. My friends have begun saying how much they will miss me, and the feeling is reciprocated. I have made great friends here. They have carried me through emotional and social struggles, explained and joined in my laughter at my host family members’ mysterious behaviors, discussed deep-rooted cultural differences with me, and helped me navigate both scholastic and extracurricular aspects of my exchange. They have translated both languages and customs, and their interest in my background has been neither intrusive nor false. I will miss their laughter and patience.
The only graded exam papers yet to be distributed are those for Math, as well as Information and Communication Technology. My term grades in English, History, Physical Education, Science, and Social Studies all look like they will be Bs, once the classwork grades are factored in. Exam grades constitute 70% of term grades, while classwork makes up the other 30%. With the exception of Social Studies, I believe I was among the highest scorers in my class. With regards to Social Studies, it was much harder to make educated guesses since the questions were on topics like bride prices—not exactly parts of the society I grew up in. Overall, I am happy with my results. In History, especially, I am proud to have learned enough West African history to get 53/70, since the highest score in the class was 54/70.