SATURDAY: June 20, 2009

                And we are still not done travelling. Right now we sit at the airport in Johannesburg, on our way to Durban. On our way to Jo-burg, there was a fuel problem, which delayed our flight by an hour; as a result, we only had ten minutes to catch our connecting flight. We ended up staying the night in Jo-burg, and we visited the Apartheid Museum today before we left.

                The museum was a great reminder of both how much ignorance humans can possess and yet how much forgiveness we still have left. I cannot imagine how much South Africa has been through in such a short time. There is so much racial mixing, so many languages spoken. I have never read up on Nelson Mandela before this, but he reminds me of what we at UMiami could have become had we been faced with such injustice. Again, I am waiting for that one event which will wake me and force me out of my comfort level and make tough choices.

                On the topic of comfort level, travelling with a group (a group of teachers, nonetheless) allows you to see what type of leader you are. I have definitely shied away from any responsibility. I am also the youngest in the group. While everyone else has taught for at least 10+ years and at many different schools, I don’t have much to add during discussions.

                For now, I am so jetlagged and tired that I wonder how I will survive the next month. But I felt this way in India, too. And that passed – as well as April, May, graduation, and everything else.

 

SUNDAY: June 21, 2009

                Last night we arrived at Durban on a small plane. It was so refreshing to see Yunus. We somehow fit all our luggage in his cousin’s van and drove over an hour to Sea Park – which I always thought was “C-Pock” according to Yunus’ accent. We are staying at Yunus’ brother, Gora’s house.

                This house is massive. It has a bagillion rooms. Well, stopping to count:  It has about 4-5 rooms and some lovely patios. It looks like the windward side of O’ahu with lush forests and beaches. If I were a real surfer, the surf would be magnificent!

                Listening to the history of the house has allowed me to finally digest what I learned at the Apartheid Museum. During Apartheid, South Africa experienced racial segregation that we in the United States can only compare to the Jim Crow laws. Except in South Africa, there were four classes and the segregation was more akin to the caste system.

                Since the discovery of gold in Kimberly and Johannesburg, many different people were brought over to work the mines. This reminded me of the pineapple plantations in Hawai’i, which brought Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and Portuguese. South Africa is full of many different and distinct races like the British, Indonesian, Malay, Chinese, Indian, and of course, the native Bushman. In reality, they are made of many different tribes. You also have the Afrikaners, those who speak Afrikaans, a language which is in fact, old Dutch.

                During Apartheid, they grouped people into four different categories: 
1) Whites, or Caucasians/Europeans                                                                                                                   Non-Whites:
2) Coloureds (biracial)
3) Asians (Indians and Chinese)                                                                                                                                  4) Blacks

                So during Apartheid, I would have been a non-white.  Apartheid changes seemed to come overnight with the changing of street names and changing of ownership.  Since Yunus’ family is also non-white, they could not own this house we are staying in, because it was located in a whites-only area. Fortunately, they had a white friend who agreed to put the property under his name until Apartheid was over.

                Today we are just relaxing and eating and talking. Yunus gave us the week’s schedule. It seems like we are all slowly adjusting to the time change, which is good since we start our workshops tomorrow. 

                We also learned today that Teachers Without Borders, the international organization, is not geared towards curriculum development like we are, but it is more projects-based. Other TWB regions focus on building infrastructure. I’m not sure which I like better.

                Since this is our ninth year in South Africa, TWBSA has gained great credibility. This is quite a lot of pressure for five teachers from Hawai’i…

 

THURSDAY: June 25, 2009

                Tomorrow we leave Port Shepstone and drive to Port St. Johns, which is our moment of rest before the workshops officially begin. This week we conducted two mini-workshops around the area, and we were able to see some of the schools’ conditions. When interviewing some of the teachers, the same problems seem to arise, such as boredom and students not turning in work. Like in India, classes are full to capacity – 60+ students under the supervision of one teacher. I immediately thought of cheating. I was right.

                We will only be working with black schools, but today we met Pauline Duncan, a local activist who pushed for integrated schools in Port Shepstone around the end of Apartheid when the idea was still new and the people still uncomfortable about change. She also served as mayor for three years. According to Pauline, she is not well-liked in the community, because she is hard-headed and noisy. I felt so privileged to have met her – someone who made real change in her community despite her gender and race. 

                She took us around town and told us where the boundaries were for whites-only housing, Indian housing, colored, and black housing. The sugar cane fields were organized as boundaries for each sub-community. In the black section (now overseen by a chief), we saw dirt roads, women carrying heavy loads on their heads, and houses with cone-shaped roofs. The schools were pretty provincial like the ones we have visited, but one can almost immediately see the disparity these schools and Pauline’s own integrated school.

SATURDAY: June 27, 2009

                Tomorrow we leave Port St. Johns. Port St. Johns has sort of been our hideaway. It is a popular vacation spot, and its three beaches remind me of the Ko’Olina lagoons. It also has a dingy Key West feel to it. There seems to be two groups of people here – people who want a place to escape to and people who make money off them.

                The group split up in terms of lodgings. I think it is to distribute the wealth to local businesses. Rajiv did this in India, too, when we visited the Taj Mahal. Even though we had the car, he would pay a rickshaw to take us places within Agra. For these places, tourism is the only industry. 

                With that said, Port St. Johns unfolds a lot of underlying racism in post-apartheid South Africa. It is full of blond and blue-eyed white people; however, the blacks are the majority. The curiosity is that the whites are the ones profiting mostly. Our visit to the local bar may have only offered a snapshot, but the blacks party hard. One gets the impression that alcoholism is closely tied to a dependence on tourism. Some of the men in our group were getting hustled by the women for beer.

                It is sad to see the Afrikaners with black wives and running restaurants and bars, while the black men are roaming the streets. Usually you can detect racial power when you see women of the “weaker” race marrying men of the “stronger” race.

                I will miss my lovely “cottage by the sea” here at the Lodge. I can see the ocean through my double doors, and the (white) couple here is so nice. They have a son, Neo, who even at 18 months knows what to do when he sees a camera. They also have four dogs – Big Boy, Scooby, Missy, and Toots – and a cat. The dogs love to hang out on my porch, and apparently, the cat has a soft spot for my drawer. I found out today. It was a pleasant surprise.

 

SUNDAY: June 28, 2009

                It is almost 1:00 AM now, and I am finally about to go to bed. We are now in Mthatha and staying in the college dorms at Trinset College. We will also be conducting our workshops here where the original plan had us travelling around the Eastern Cape for each workshop location. Apparently, funding didn’t come through.

                Today was a sobering day. For our last day in Port St. Johns, the weather was cloudy and rainy, which prevented us from hiking to Third Beach. (Although I’m glad we hiked to the Gap yesterday when the weather was gorgeous.) The weather made me sleep through the day, and I woke up in a panic when I realized I would start for real tomorrow!

                Our vacation is finally over… but I do feel very relaxed and not at all upset that I will be working now. Time for reality…. Fred will also be leaving us soon so I was glad to have a nice chat with him at dinner about education and funny Jewish-American nuances.

                I feel nervous about tomorrow. I am a female, I am young, and I am Chinese – teaching older local teachers in South Africa! I will try and take Pauline’s advice about adversity: who cares as long as you are doing what you feel passion for?

 

THURSDAY: July 2, 2009

                A lot has happened this week. As expected, I stick out like a sore thumb in this teacher crowd – my age and race give me away. This has done two things for me: truly conduct my workshops as a facilitator and not a teacher like the good old UM Alternative Breaks days and it has also made the education gap more evident than ever.

                First, my age has allowed me to approach these workshops with more of a humble attitude. Going around the room with introductions has made it quite evident that some people have been teaching since I started walking! On the flip side, when I answer “easy” questions like double clicking an icon on the computer, I realize how much I am thankful for. And how much we are truly learning from one another.

                This experience has convinced me further that education suffers from the same problems no matter where you go. When I ask teachers about what they struggle with the most, it is the same. I feel as if I am answering myself:
1.) Our learners think Math is a waste of time.
2.) They don’t do their homework.
3.) When they do their homework, they cheat.
4.) I have too many learners in one classroom (60-80).
5.) They come to class unprepared.

                As someone only 24 years young, I feel resentful towards this generation already. I find myself spewing: “When I was in school…” But was this because I attended private school, where my teachers did not orate to a class of 60 kids and were able to give the attention I needed? Or was it because my teachers did not have much technology and games to compete with? – Or is this simply the way education has always been outside of my middle class American bubble tinted with the slight hue of immigrant struggle? Somewhere along the line, I missed a memo. Or did these students just never receive the memo I had read: “Education is the great equalizer so pay attention!!”

We are staying at Trinset, a teacher training college here in Mthatha. Since we arrived, the plumbing system has been inadequate for housing so many people. The hot water is an elusive element. Some of us had no water, some had only cold water, and the rest of us had only hot water. An emergency meeting was held where only our comfort was stressed – the TWB teachers, that is. As Fred vocalized, if only the TWB teachers were relocated, we would send the wrong message to the local teachers. We are already a group of non-black teachers “here to teach you the right way to do things.”

                So we stuck it out. So far, the situations have improved. However, for the past two days I have been stuck in bed, sick with a sore throat. Going to the doctor was quite an experience. It was a young and good-looking doctor, which made my antibiotic injection in the butt an awkward experience. He also loaded me with all sorts of medication, which have incomprehensible Afrikaans written on their packages. Andy took over my class today but I got dressed to attend closing ceremony at the end of the day.

                I am glad I went, because the moment I entered the room I knew I was missed! The whole room applauded and shouted my name. A representative from each department came up to talk about their experience, and it was nice to hear that this week was impactful for the teachers and that they did not travel such distances in vain.

                Then it was our turn to speak. I did not know we had such eloquent colleagues! Yunus pointed out that we rely on doctors to nurse our well-being and lawyers to solve disputes, but teachers are responsible for our children’s entire intellectual development. During my speech, I told the teachers that it was really them that nursed me since teachers had trained my doctor. I told them that it was a thankless job to teach our children, and our children only appreciate use later on. So I thanked them in advance – in English, Zulu (seabonga), and Hawaiian (mahalo).

                I was trying very hard not to cry during the speech. How could I cry in front of these strangers? How could I not cry in front of these strangers?

 

MONDAY: July 6, 2009

                How could I possibly have a career in anything other than education? Perhaps I am the natural product of the immigrant story, but education is what builds and individual, a home, and a community. I am so glad that I have entered this profession – no matter how tiring and undervalued it may get.

                This weekend I was terribly ill and my sore throat got worse. The infection at my tonsils spread so that eating and drinking are a discomfort. We stayed at Coffee Bay (another beach town on the Wild Coast, like Port St. Johns), and the beach was beautiful. The weather was warm enough for swimming so I was upset I couldn’t go in. I miss Hawai’i!

                We did get to attend a local wedding though, which was organized by Fuzile (from Trinset). It was surprisingly pretty westernized with the exchange of wedding bands and the bride in white. However, the crowd was dressed in casual clothing. There were some women dressed in traditional clothing who would burst into song throughout the ceremony. One thing I think we will all take back with us is the music. As a group, we have already begun to sing more.

                After that, Fuzile took use to what appeared to be another normal rondevell (circular hut) with the popular cyan-colored paint on the outside. Only the male teachers were allowed to enter the initiation ceremony that was going on inside. Inside, the boys had just been circumcised two weeks ago. Afterwards the boys were asked to stand outside the rondavel for the three female teachers to see them. We were not allowed to see their faces though. They had traditional robes on and their bodies were covered with this white matter – including their faces. The men said that their privates were wrapped in bandages and changed regularly.

                Tonight Barbara brought up this event, because we heard that Fuzile is thinking about taking the women to see a female initiation ceremony. Barbara said that she would feel intrusive, because she felt so at the wedding already. A couple people disagreed. But I find myself agreeing. There is some magical part of Africa that I want to remain as theirs. By this, I mean that I am willing to admit that I cannot understand everything about their culture, and I am fine with this. Weddings and initiation ceremonies are these delicate and private events that I dare not intervene on. Going through a rite of passage is something personal; outside observation almost makes a mockery out of the “ceremony” and it loses its magic, in my opinion.

                While we were at Coffee Bay, we also drove to see The Hole in the Wall, which is the tourist attraction to see. As we approached The Hole in the Wall, we noticed children on the side of the road hustling. Some offered directions, a tour, a necklace, and others just asked for “small change.”

                It was a very sobering drive. At one point, Yunus rolled down his window to ask for directions and was confronted with two children who crowded the windows, outstretched hands,

                “No, no. You mustn’t beg.”

                But, really, what else is there to do? And why not if you live by The Hole in the Wall? In India, the children begged, too. There they called me “dede”, and here they call me “sissy”. Is it not the same?

                When we reached The Hole in the Wall, it was anticlimactic. It is what you would imagine it to be, except the beach is rocky and tells its own story with rusted soda cans. On the beach, there are more children selling necklaces and begging. It was picnicking at India Gate again.

                The Hole in the wall angered me. For me, it was just a hole in a wall, deemed “beautiful” and worthwhile. But all around it was the real South Africa – the real hole in the wall. In front of this majestic natural attraction were child beggars and white people frolicking on the beach.

 

TUESDAY: July 7, 2009

                Mark says that he finally shaped up and found a reason to live responsibly when he became a father. I cannot say that I was irresponsible before, because I think I was always a relatively good person through service and my general demeanor. But I must say that before becoming a teacher, I never truly valued education as I do now. Good teachers are really hard to come by. Yes, I have had nice teachers who explained concepts clearly. But the ones who truly challenged me and nurtured my thinking, I can only name a few.

                I just finished a lively chat with Jim about numbers. We talked about patterns such as pi and Fibonacci. There was so much I learned in Math but so little I actually understood! Being around these veteran teachers invigorates me to continue exploring the field of education. Imagine what a child’s education could be like if we continued to challenge all teachers through such events?

                How could we not help build education? Yesterday for the Opening Ceremony, the Minister of Education spoke. He gave some shocking yet predictable statistics. In South Africa, 99% of whites are passing, 90% of Indians, 75% of coloreds, and only 44% of blacks. There is a great disparity but it is to be expected in a society so fresh from Apartheid rule. At the Nelson Mandela Museum we learned that blacks were taught in separate schools. Their Bantu education was purposefully diluted as a method of strategic oppression. Students were not taught relevant skills. This way, schools were not empowering the students but were factories for producing “more taxi drivers”, according to the Minister. 

                So now how can we possibly expect change so quickly? Now these students from the apartheid are teaching the new generation of students. Clearly we must mend the gap first. Education is at the root of all solutions. This point has stressed the importance of these workshops. 

                The other important fact he shared was that the average age of teachers in South Africa is 44 years old. These teachers will be retiring and collecting their pension in 16 years. So in the next sixteen years, South Africa will need a fresh set of teachers – Not just new teachers but skilled teachers who can take on this challenge.

                What I see in South Africa is not so different from what I see in the United States. We also see a disparity between races and their academic achievement. It is what Teach For America calls the “achievement gap.” We also see many teachers preparing for retirement in the next ten years. Young teachers are ill-equipped to enter the classroom and contribute to a high attrition rate. In the next ten years we will be scrambling for more educators and leaders in a field where we cannot afford such a drought. We simply cannot afford it. The children of our country, of this country, and the future citizens of the world cannot afford it. We must continue to produce problem solvers, philosophers, artists, and engineers to build and illustrate the future. It is so critical.

                And the task is so daunting. But I know that we are all in the right place. Life is not a big coincidence. Like the patterns we see in mathematics, our current locations all combine to make a beautiful design. If we could just organize ourselves, we will see that together we fit. Together we form something so wonderful that can only be described as Magic.

 

THURSDAY: July 9, 2009

Today ended our second week of the Teachers Without Borders workshops; next week is our third and last week. So far, we have met 600 Math and Science teachers. We have shared meals with them, stayed in the same dorm rooms, and we have joined together in laughter, song, and dance. It has been a magical experience. To see and feel total strangers come together in a span of four days for a common cause and then to weep together shortly afterwards is just beautiful. To begin each day with a room full of teachers singing in harmony and praying together helps you reflect on and fully appreciate life’s fragility and wonder. It is just amazing and an experience that cannot be captured with words or modern devices.

I feel so blessed to be here and to be alive. At first I was afraid, because I felt unworthy to be here due to my age. Even the local teachers questioned why I am here. You are not married? (No.) How much do they pay you? (Nothing.) How much do you earn in the US for teaching then? (Barely enough. Just like you.) Even I doubted myself after their questioning! What was I doing all the way in South Africa? Maybe emptying out my bank account wasn’t a good idea… But now we have all come to terms with the facts and have agreed that our intentions are true: We are all here for our “learners” (students).

I have come to realize that the world works in mysterious ways. Yesterday one of the other math teachers (Mark) needed dice for a Probability lesson. Yunus found dice at a store called Sun Cash & Carry that sells all sorts of odds and ends. It turns out that the “Sun” in Sun Cash & Carry comes from the owner’s last name. She is a businesswoman who moved to South Africa to help stimulate the economy here. Like my family, she is from Taiwan! Somewhere back in history, we share the same ancestor. (I think it explains the sense of adventure and call to service. It must be in our genes!) In a way, I was destined to be here- whether it was to facilitate a workshop or set up shop to provide dice. Today I visited “my relatives”. We talked and talked as if we had known each other for years over spring rolls and oolong tea.

Yesterday, I also fell in love. Our workshops begin at 8:30am and end at 4:00pm every day. Yesterday I did not leave my classroom until 6:00pm, just in time for dinner. The other workshop facilitators came by to check up on me, because they didn’t see me in the common room, where I am usually found. When they came by, they saw a crowd of twenty teachers in my room. I was pouring popcorn into cylinders and waving my hands around, talking about pi and the volume formula. It was one of the best moments in my life. My teachers left the room still talking about math. There was a buzz in the air. Dolly, a small African woman, approached me and said, “Amy, I could just lift you up right now!” And then she- a woman half my size- pick me up and spun me around! I was left exhausted and happy.

I planned on teaching for just two years and then going on my merry way. Getting a “real” job to establish a career. But now, I cannot imagine doing anything else. What other job allows you to make a significant difference every day? What other job allows you to light so many lights? And train the active citizens of tomorrow? I was meant to come on this trip. I was meant to feel this feeling of completion and awe. I’m just going to accept it now. It feels so right. 

When you are doing good, the world conspires for your success.

                 

SUNDAY: July 12, 2009

                What would my life had been if I had decided to land in Africa on different terms? Right now, I could be in Kenya volunteering in an orphanage – also making a difference and appreciating life. But it is the little things in life that make all the difference. Like my over-zealous reply to the NCTM mass email about Teachers Without Borders and my non-existent interview over lunch.

                Just when I think, “Okay, I appreciate you, life!!” I am surprised again. On Friday we set out to East London, a town which has a bigger white population – as the name gives it away. Before settling in, Yunus took us to the Mpongo Game Reserve in Gonubia. It exceeded my expectations.

                Our ranger guide, Marc DuPlessies, was a man who reminded me of Crocodile Dundee with his accent. He was so full of life and anxious to show us around. We piled into a Land Rover and set off to see as many animals as we could before sunset. We saw:
*impala
*termite mounds
*blessed buck
*rhino!! and their BIG poop
*giraffes
*wildebeest
*ostrich!
*lions
*zebra!
*nyala

                Everything was so amazing. Marc told us all the old Xhosa stories such as why the zebra has stripes, how the Southern Cross was named after the giraffe, why the warthog enters his hole from behind, and why the giraffe’s neck is so long. He even told us about plants that communicate with one another by releasing a chemical into the wind to warn others about predators. We are such insignificant creatures in the presence of Mother Nature!

                But the best part of our safari was when we stopped the engine and watched the sunset in silence. Marc told us about grass – and how it plays such a vital role in allowing all others to grow. Without grass, a plant has no firm ground to take root and other creatures have no chance to survive. When he was younger, Marc said, he wanted to be someone famous and important. But it wasn’t until he became a parent that he realized that sometimes that’s not the point.

                Now he is the father of two girls and his job is to help them become whatever they want to become. He thanked us for what we do as teachers, because “you are the ones who raise the next Nelson Mandelas and Barack Obamas. You are the grass that supports our nation.”

                Then he paused and let us listen to the sunset. 

                “I love my country,” he said before starting the engine and driving us back.