A piga and a cry

On Thursday, I had my first big test on how I would handle a significant cultural difference between Tanzania and Australia. It was 3pm and the children were gathered in the classroom for their daily afternoon lesson (Monday = Swahili, Tuesday = maths, Wednesday = health, Thursday = English, Friday = sport). The volunteers are normally supposed to take the English class, and this week the girls decided that after asking the kids to write out “hello, how are you, my name is, I come from” etc etc a thousand times over the last few weeks, that this week, we would try getting them in pairs and practising with each other in front of the class.

Giving instructions in Swahili is none of our strong points, so this is where we generally ask the local volunteers (Beatrice, Sheki or Daos) to explain. This week Daos was asked, but instead of simply giving the instructions and leaving the rest to us, he took over the class. Which involved going through each sentence painfully and embarrassingly with each pair (I don’t think they teach that way in Tanzania, so this method was a bit novel for the students and for Daos as well). Anyway, all may have been fine, except that Daos, for some reason, picked up the broom used to sweep the classroom, and started using it as a) a leaning post, b) a pointer, c) a tool with which to emphasise a point in the air, and d) a tool with which to emphasise a point on a student’s body.

I was sitting there watching and it bothered me from the start, the aggressive way he used this broom, even if he wasn’t actually touching anyone with it. But if you’re seven years old and have been called up to speak a foreign language in front of 34 other kids, I figure that positive reinforcement might go a lot further to helping the kid memorise the sentences than poking him with a broom might. I was already feeling quite tired and somewhat fed up with a few things and frustrated, so when this started happening I became really frustrated, not knowing my place, not knowing whether I should step in and say something, not knowing where that ever-elusive line is between providing “foreign expertise” – whatever the hell that is – and adapting to the cultural norms of my host country. The others weren’t doing anything and they have been here much longer than me, so it wasn’t right for me to do anything. I was thinking about how much I hated not being able to break that thing across Daos’s ass. If I saw someone being raped, I wouldn’t stand idly by, so why was I standing idly by now? My mind started to tumble down a hill and I thought, I can’t work here if they think it’s OK to hit the children. I just can’t.

While I was thinking this, one kid told on another (they love to tattle) and Daos told the criminal to stand up. The next thing I knew, the kid was holding out his hand and receiving a swift smack on his palm with the broom handle. All the volunteers went “hey! What’s happening? Why did you do that?” and we got some bullshit answer. The tears that were in my eyes as a result of my mind tumble just came cascading out and I had to leave the classroom. I went inside to the office and closed the door and just burst into tears. I felt so conflicted... I couldn’t work here if they were going to hit the kids. But it’s so part of everyday life here, they get hit in school and at home and it’s so ingrained into them that they come up to us, tell on someone and ask us to piga the offender… who was I to waltz in and impose my white moral righteousness after four days? But did I ever hate myself right then for not having the courage to make a stand.

I got myself together and walked out of the office and was immediately cornered by the Doctor, who was sitting outside with Sister Bernadette and Sheki. He took my hand and said “what is wrong?” I said “nothing, Doctor, I’m fine”. He looked at me intently and said again “what is wrong?” and I just couldn’t say “nothing” again, I couldn’t open my mouth because I was trying so hard to stop crying. He said “come, let us go and have a talk”, held my hand (lots and lots of hand holding in this country) and took me back into the office where I started crying again for real and apologising profusely through my tears (typical me… I’m the one upset and I’m doing the apologising). I said “I’m sorry, Doctor. I’m really sorry, I know I’m in Tanzania now, and I know things are very different here, and I know I must accept the differences… but where I come from, people don’t hit their children”. That was as much as I could get out because I was now weeping like a maniac.

He said “what hitting? Who is hitting the children?” I explained what had happened and that I felt really bad because I didn’t want to cause any trouble… politics, politics. The Doctor said “no. I don’t believe in hitting the children. There is no hitting here.” I was a hair’s breadth away from pointing out to him that it was Mama who is always threatening the children with piga-ing and Sheki who seems to administer them… but until now, never in front of the imported volunteers. It was hard to explain what I had heard over the last few days without implicating anyone, and I didn’t want to implicate anyone because I know they would have all been hit in school themselves and it’s completely normal for them.

Anyway, he was incredibly kind and understanding and told me about the time he was beaten in school for not collecting the students’ textbooks quickly enough… and then beaten again by the same teacher for supposedly slamming the door on the way out after the first beating. I explained that I felt so bad for these children as it is because they already have such difficult and sad lives, and that it would be nice if HAPO could be the one place they go where they are safe from such things. He agreed, and said that HAPO was supposed to be a safe place for all its children, and that the children in the program are “psychologically deranged” (I’m fairly certain he means psychologically damaged) and need to be cared for, protected and loved. He said he would speak to all the staff and make sure there’s no piga-ing. I don’t know what effect that will have or if it will actually happen, but I was very glad that he talked to me about it and was so open and understanding. I guess if I had come storming into his office and told him his program was rubbish and how dare he allow the children to be hit, it may have had a different effect. But tears can go a long way for a chick – and that, coupled with the fact that I was very careful to say I am not used to things being done this way, rather than you are doing things the wrong way, seemed to make everything work out fine. It was a good chance to bond with the Doctor too.

As it stands I think there are a hell of a lot of threats where piga-ing is concerned but not a lot of action. Regardless, even if Daos hadn’t actually hit Francis with that broom, I still would have been deeply disturbed by the aggressive and bullying way he was using it. I can’t imagine being able to learn with the handle of a broom in my face. But, I am living and working in a country where there are 45 to 60 students per classroom. It would be impossible to control that many kids (I can’t imagine being able to control one) so it figures that piga­-ing has become an ingrained part of society and of the school system. Sometimes I see whining screaming brats in the supermarket in Australia and secretly wish their parents would give them a swift kick in the ass… we were all smacked as kids and none of us are the worse for wear, right? But now we know it’s wrong, if only because all it does is teach children that you deal with difficulties with violence. There has to be a more constructive way of dealing with difficulty, and I do think the Doctor is on the same page…. I will see what happens in the coming weeks.