Written April 20, 2012
Fort Dauphin
Imagine a group of people on a small island. One of these people is a sailor, trained by the US Navy. One day the sailor announces that he’s going to take a longboat out to sea towards the mainland and he will be happy to take some people with him. However, there is only room enough in the boat for half of the islanders. The first half of the island’s residents to arrive file onto the boat in an orderly fashion, and the sailor makes ready to shove off.
However, the other half of the islanders have now whipped themselves into a fury, a panic that their neighbors will now be taken to the mainland to live lives of ease and prosperity, leaving them behind. The latecomers surround the craft, digging their heels into the sand and splashing around in the shallow surf.
Take us with you! they yell. You can’t leave us behind, you have to take all of us! Take us with you! Take us, take us, take us!
But you’re too many, the sailor calls, as diplomatically as he can. The boat will surely capsize. I’ll take another trip in two weeks, you can go then.
No! they howl. You will take us now! You will take all of us! We won’t let you leave if you don’t!
The sailor quickly gets fed up with the cacophony. You see, he never said he was taking anyone to the mainland. His plan was to take the passengers within sight of the mainland, just for the day, then turn back. There are any number of reefs and currents that would make the journey to the mainland impossible.
Since no lives are in danger, the sailor has little compunction about chambering a round into a large-caliber shotgun and firing straight into the longboat’s bottom, scuttling it. All the islanders set up a lamentation. The first group of islanders scolds the second group for their stubbornness; the second group hurls abuse at the sailor for denying them the pleasures of an easy life.
The sailor throws down the gun in disgust and stalks back to his hut.
That was my English Club on Wednesday.
I take most of the responsibility for its nosedive. I was the one who severely miscalculated the mentality of middle schoolers in a developing country. (Please note that that statement’s not a slur against kids in developing countries, it’s a slur against middle schoolers.)
I failed to take into account that these kids just might be naive enough to think that learning English would be enough to get them to the United States. No, it was not just a natural enthusiasm for a new language. They literally thought that my English Club was going to revolutionize their lives.
On Monday, when the students got back from Easter vacation, I announced that everyone would be welcome. However, I forgot to mention that I was only going to let 50 people into the classroom, because that’s how many seats there are.
So 100 kids showed up. Half went in and sat down. Half stayed around the windows, peering in as if their lives depended on the lesson. It was touching, until the outside kids started making noise. I told them they had to go home. Then things got Dickensian.
“We can’t go home, sir, we want to learn English! Please teach us English, sir, please let us in, we won’t make noise, we can sit on the floor, just please, please let us in! We want you to teach us English, sir, please!”
Some of the children were on the verge of tears, and I wish I was exaggerating.
But you know what? I am not the sort of person who caves to the demands of a mob of children. I also know the limits of my teaching style. I cannot teach English to 100-odd middle schoolers. Maybe if I had Education sector training, but I don’t.
So I gave them ten minutes to leave, or there’d be no English Club.
They didn’t leave.
No English Club. I packed up, erased the few words I’d written on the board, and left. A gaggle of pouty schoolkids trailed me all the way to the market, where I stopped to buy tomatoes and oil.
The next day in the market I passed a group of boys. The oldest turned to his friends and whispered “Halako.” I hate him.
Yeah, kid? Say that to my face. In English. OH THAT’S RIGHT YOU CAN’T!
Yeah, I’ll admit that only a few of the kids outside the class were actually making noise. But I have no qualms about punishing the many for the crimes of the few. If it’s good enough for the Church, it’s good enough for me.
Of course, that analogy puts me in the place of God.
But I’m not God.
I’m just an American.
I met with the directeur and he agreed with me that henceforth the English Club should be limited to the Troisiéme (eighth grade) students. So English Club will continue, but in a much more limited form than I'd originally planned.
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