Journal Entry 29: Teaching is Hard Work, But Oh So Powerful!

This week I started volunteering at a daycare center on the university’s campus.  One of the teachers led me into a small little room of kids, sitting in their desks staring at me. They’re just as energetic as any other toddlers, but a lot more well behaved than I expected. She then led me to a small open space across from that room where a woman stood around ten four and five-year-olds, writing numbers “1-5” on a small chalkboard. A small little girl walked into the little enclosure and the teacher said to me, “She’s new. You can help her get up to speed. She probably won’t be able to write up to five just yet, so start slow and keep repeating”. I nodded and took a seat next to the little cheesy girl. “You ready?” I said to her with a smile. “Do you know 'one'?” I said. She drew a one on her small piece of recycled paper. “Good!” I said, as she smiled at me in satisfaction. “What about two? Can you draw me a two?”. She looked up at me as if she was pretending to know what I was saying and then looked down at her paper and scribbled. “Hmm…let’s try it together” I said. I took her hand and we traced out the two together. We spent almost an hour trying to draw “two”, but I wasn’t about to give up. She would get distracted every now and then and try to play with my bracelet, or look at the other kids when they were rowdy. “You can do it, come on”. I said. She finally drew some type of two, but it was facing my direction, not hers (even though I had been drawing the two in her direction).  “Very good!” I said in excitement, clapping my hands a little. She gave me a big grin. I was happy I got her to at least draw the right shape. I pointed to the numbers and said “what is this?”, making sure she could identify her “1”s and “2”s. At first, she only knew “1” and kept calling “2”, “6”. This is when I discovered the psychological aspect of teaching; I was struggling to figure out her thought process. I had to figure out a way to get into her head and figure out how she was thinking, so that she could draw this two. She didn’t get it that day, but I'm determined to get it down for next time.

On this day I also discovered the power teachers have over their students, particularly at such a young, vulnerable age, where kids are like sponges just soaking everything in. When it was time for me to switch classes, I left the four year olds and went over to the three year olds who were doing their “abc’s”. The first thing I noticed is that because the students didn’t have their own papers, they each came up one by one to draw an “a” on the board, as the others just sat and watched. The teacher had me come up and help them draw the “a”. I immediately noticed that the one boy that came up seemed to get it a lot faster than any of the other girls that came up, and that the teacher even let him go up to “d”.

After their letters, the teacher looked at me and said “It’s song/poem time”. I sat in a chair and observed the songs. I must admit that I found the songs fascinating, and I’m sure you will too. Here are little snippets of a few I picked up on:

“Read the Bible, Pray everyday, Pray everyday, Pray everyday

Read the Bible, Pray everyday

If you want to grow”

“A for Abraham, fathers of men

B for Bethlehem where Jesus was born

C for Cain who killed his brothers

D for Daniel, the prophet of God”

“Green apples are bad, yellow apples are good”

This happens to be my favorite one to point out. You might be able to guess why:

“Bobby Shaftle gone to sea

Silver buckles on his knees

He’ll come back and marry me

Bobby, Bobby Shaftle

Bobby Shaftle, bright and fair

Combing down his yellow hair

He’s my love forever more

Bobby, Bobby Shaftle”

I watched the kids as they repeated after the teacher, doing hand gestures and at some points just staring at me, looking at whether or not I was watching. At one point, I and the teacher were the only ones singing the words, so she said “Me and Auntie are the only ones singing. Come on and clap for me.” The kids clapped. “Now clap for auntie” she said, referring to me, and the kids clapped. (In Ghana, Auntie is a sign of respect shown for an older woman). With these songs she was enforcing ideas and values the kids will internalize and hold onto for the rest of their lives. 

The teacher eventually let them go out (I’m guessing to use the bathroom). When they came back in, the teacher decided to test their colors. She asked each child what the color of their chair was, and only one student got it right. One boy raised his hand timidly and gave an incorrect answer, so she quickly asked someone else as his face suddenly showed a drop in confidence. She made an expression of disappointment and went to go fix their lunch. When they were done eating, she had them go outside to play and asked me to draw animals and fruits on the board. She and the other teachers took a bucket and mop and cleaned the floor and about a half an hour later, she was setting up little pieces of carpet for nap time. She eventually called the kids in, “Come on and nap” she said, as they trickled in. “How long do they nap?” I asked. “Oh two or three hours, it depends”, she said.  It was about 12:30 when they started napping, and nap time ends at 3pm. I don’t remember how long my nap time was when I was in kindergarten, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t that long. Observing how they learn was fascinating for me, and taught me even more about the power of being a teacher. You can break or make a kid’s confidence, and even more importantly, you can teach them ideas about others and themselves that will potentially stick with them for the rest of their lives. 

Journal Entry 28: Don't Try this at Home

The excitement never ended this weekend! After the canopy walk, we headed over to have lunch at another nice hotel. The hotel also has a crocodile lodge where you can feed and pet crocodiles—yes crocodiles. This wasn’t something I was too thrilled about. We walked over to an area where there were two crocodiles that seemed to be sedated for the most part. People began to take pictures with them, placing their hands on the rough pointy reptile skin. I touched the crocodile for about two seconds, for the simple fact that so many people had been messing with the crocodile that I was scared that I might be the last straw. (Of course, the fact that it started waking up, opening its eyes and stretching its arm had something to do with it too). Nonetheless, it got my adrenaline going. I felt like one of the crazy people on "The Crocodile Hunter". Now when I see them on television, I can say “Yea—been there, done that!”. 

Journal Entry 27: Walking the Plank

This trip to Ghana means more to me than simply a study abroad experience. It's also an opportunity for personal growth. One part of personal growth is overcoming your fears, which I chose to do on this day.  I dreaded this day before I even arrived in Ghana.  I’m afraid of heights. No—I’m terrified of heights. In the brochure, I had seen pictures of people walking along this long bridge made of rope, amongst high trees, and created my own terrifying mental picture. I imagined just how it would be. I would hold someone’s hand as they tried to calm me down and stop my crying, and then when it was all done I would cry even harder and recover from my anxiety attack.

Ghana taught me a lot about myself on this day. The time had come--we headed to Kakum National Park. We were hiking in the rainforest, climbing up, and up, and up. We finally reached the little enclosure where we waited to face our fate, as only seven people are allowed on the canopy at once. I realized that based on how the canopy was built you can’t have two people standing side by side. The only one that could hold my hands was the rope.  The director of my program went close behind me, sending me words of encouragement. Midway, he asked me to turn around to take a picture. I slowly turned around and gave an “I’m scared but I’m doing this!” expression. At first, all I could see was trees under me, so it wasn’t that bad. However, as I started getting further onto the bridge, I could see more open space beneath me, and I began to feel my legs and arms quivering, nearly about to give in. I shouted back to my director. “Kwasi—I’m getting scared now. I’m getting REALLY scared”. “You can do it--keep going!” he shouted from behind me. I was so panicked that I could barely hear all of the shouts from the other members of my exchange program saying “Yea, Zakiyyah! You can do it! Come on girl!” I tried to drown out the loud noise of fear and tune into their voices. After a while, their voices were not enough, so I used my own. I kept singing, and singing, and singing, and singing, “Lalala—ooohh” “Lalalala--ooh”. Considering my voice was shaking like crazy, it wasn’t the prettiest sound I’ve ever made, but it was certainly the most soothing for me at the time. Before I knew it, I was done, and my peers were clapping! Another lesson learned in Ghana: Courage isn’t the absence of fear, but the presence of fear with the will to go on.  After everything was finished, people went to collect their pictures, and make t-shirts that said “I survived the canopy walkway”. Unfortunately, they didn’t have enough material to make me a t-shirt, but you can bet I’ll be getting one in the U.S. It isn’t everyday you have an experience like this. I did it, and boy am I glad that I did!

Journal Entry 26: Honeymoon Spot

Our  Suite (Not the best picture, but it was too big to fit everything in!)

As the group checked in at the Coconut Grove Hotel in Cape Coast, we marveled over its resort feel and beautiful suites. This was the first time I had a warm shower in Ghana. The suites were spacious, and I felt rich for a day. The bathroom was separated into two rooms, one for a shower and the other for a toilet. A sink and mirror in the middle separated the two rooms. The pool was beautiful (and I’m not even a swimmer) and the beach next to it was plenty of fun. I participated in volleyball (even though I suck), dug my friend in the sand and made him into a mermaid, and took lots of great pictures that will forever hold good memories. In the evening, as my friend and I walked down the path towards the dining area, we joked about how this would be our honeymoon spot. “You can’t even bring your boyfriend here” she said, “it has to be my husband. This is exclusive”. There was no way I could disagree. Coconut Grove Hotel in Cape Coast, I hope to see you again with “him” sometime soon! 

Journal Entry 25: Ghana Gone Gangsta

You’d be surprised how quickly my mood changed after leaving Cape Coast Castle. When I originally went in, a young Ghanaian man took notice of my bracelet (with my name on it) and started asking me how to spell my name. He then started talking about some soccer team, which I wasn’t paying much attention to because I was trying to get mentally prepared for what I was about to see. I ignored him and walked into the castle. I thought this would be my last encounter with this young man; unfortunately, it wasn’t.

After I came out from the castle, he came up to me with a shell in his hand. “Ayy, Zakiyyah! Look what I made for you!” He handed me a shell that said “Zakiyyah, hope you have a great time in Cape Coast”. I smiled and said thank you. “All you have to do” he continued as me and my friend looked at each other, “is donate 20 cedis to our soccer team”. “Twenty Cedis?” I replied in a “you must be high” tone. “Sorry—I don’t have any money.” He wasn't giving up. “Or whatever you have is fine, whatever you can give”. My friend that was with me started saying “they tried to do that to me the last time—don’t give them any money. Let’s go”. The man got upset with her because he saw her trying to talk me out of giving him money (that he wasn’t going to get in the first place). As we were trying to walk away, he yelled behind us “Fine! FUCK YOU—and your little bitch ass friend! Take that little bitch with you”. He followed behind my friend and said, “Next time you do that, I’m going to take my fingers and poke your eyes out and put the devil in you!”. One of the other members of the soccer team grabbed my friend’s hand as we were walking away and she jerked it off. Apparently they got even angrier when they saw us laughing, unable to take their threats seriously, so they can continued to cuss at us as we walked away and onto our van. “What an experience to have--a nice welcome home” we reflected, laughing at our first hood experience in Ghana. 

Journal Entry 24: Reliving History

I finally got to see the Cape Coast Slave Castle this weekend. The group from my exchange program was split into two groups, one went to see Cape Coast Slave castle, and the other went to see Elmina Slave Castle. I had heard that Elmina was the more emotional one that had more to see, so I decided I would wait and see that with my mom when she visits me in November, and see Cape Coast now.

Dungeon for Female Slaves that were Disobedient

During the tour, the part that hit me most was the female slave dungeon; the part that represented where I would be if times hadn’t changed. We entered the small dark room and a strong stench filled the air, so unique I can’t even describe it.  The tour guide continued to inform us, “This is the dungeon the female slaves were brought to if they refused rape and needed to be punished” he said. The room was extremely small, but as he explained before, all of the dungeons held way more people than they were made to fit. He continued “the only time they were allowed to bathe was when the slave catchers 'needed' them”. I could hear grunts from the other people on the tour. “This is where they stayed, even while menstruating” he continued. “If a woman became pregnant by one of the slave catchers, she was thrown ashore because this could provide trouble back at home for the ones who were married. If a female slave had a mulatto child, the slave catcher’s wife might figure things out so they didn’t want to take the risk”.  His words painted pictures of images so horrid they can’t even be fully comprehended. I had trouble fully engaging myself into what he was saying, because a part of me didn't want to believe it.

Another touching moment of the tour was the “Door of No Return”, where the slaves were to leave their home, never to return again. Fortunately they made a plaque for the descendants of those slaves, welcoming them back. They called the outside of this door, “The Door of Return”. But I did return, and I walked through it--except  it wasn’t home anymore.

Journal Entry 23: Sing a Song

I decided that I wanted to participate in one of the musical groups on campus so I joined my friend at choir rehearsal one evening. When I first entered the room, it felt very chaotic because there were so many voices singing at once. A man handed me the sheet music to an aria and told me to join in with the sopranos. They weren’t really on key, but I assumed it was because they were just learning the song and were trying to get the hang of the different changes in pitch.

The choir director then told us to break up into sections so that each voice part could have a chance to practice, so I went with the sopranos to his office. I noticed that he didn’t really count off the rhythm for us. Most choir directors would count off “1, 2, 3”, but he would just say “Readyyy, go!”. I also noticed he could barely play the piano, which wouldn’t be a big deal if he could demonstrate our part better.

One of the girls raised her hand to ask a question. I couldn’t remember the exact phrase she used, but she described the shape of the notes, asking if the “blank circle with the stem” was two beats and “the colored in circle with the stem” was one. This is when I realized that many of them don’t read music, which means it takes even longer to learn music. Afterword, we joined the other voice parts and practiced all together, sounding a little better than when we originally started. I picked up the song pretty quickly, because the melody was simple. Towards the end of rehearsal, the director stood in front of the room as the choir members talked amongst themselves. He put his hand on his chin and remained silent, waiting for everyone to settle down. I was immediately brought back to high school at that moment. Noticing that no one was quieting down, he began talking over everyone and giving announcements. Just before we left, the choir director asked us to join hands so we could bow our heads and pray. This was new for me because it was almost assuming that everyone in the choir was Christian (but I later on realized that it does have a religious background). I appreciated having this experience and seeing how the rehearsal functions, but I decided that it probably wasn’t for me.