Wednesday, October 29, 2014

My Language Spelling Bee


In Ugandan primary schools, children are taught in their local language until Primary 4, where they switch to learning in English. This “transition year,” as it is known, can be very difficult for pupils. This, coupled with the fact that being fluent in English is seen as the key to success in many areas, has led parents and communities to push for all-English classes at younger and younger ages. However, when classes are taught in English beginning at Primary 1, many pupils never become literate in their first language. This is a major detriment because skills in literacy transfer from the first language to the second language only if completely learned. As an ESL teacher, I know that the best predictor of reading proficiency in someone's second language is their level of literacy in their native language. English is important to learn, but it should not come at the expense of a child's native language. In addition to the many social, economic, and cognitive benefits first-language literacy offers, a pupil who is literate in their native language takes considerably less time to achieve competency in English. Despite all of this, an initial lack of focus on English can seem counter-intuitive to many people. This has led to a devaluing of indigenous languages in Uganda and an uncertainty about what role, if any, local languages should play in schooling.

Enter the My Language Spelling Bee (MLSB). The MLSB is a spelling competition created this year by Peace Corps Volunteers in partnership with the Ministry of Education and Sports. Pupils from different regions all over Uganda are competing this month and the next in their local languages – Acholi, Luganda, Runyankore/Rukiga, Runyoro/Rutooro, and more. The goal of MLSB is to increase the levels of literacy in Uganda, promote a love of reading and writing, and help to preserve indigenous languages. It’s a project centering around all of the causes that I am most passionate about, and I am so happy that I was able to be a small part of it in the Runyankore/Rukiga language region.


The idea of a spelling bee is a new concept here and introducing it to the community was certainly a challenge, one that earned me many “crazy muzungu” looks at first. However, after an explanation of the educational benefits of events such as this one, the strong support of local community members such as the District Education Officer and the Coordinating Centre Tutors led to my entire district embracing the idea. Over 150 schools in my area held school-level spelling bees in September. The winner of each school spelling bee traveled to their local Coordinating Centres in mid-October to compete in the district-level competitions. The top five pupils from each district competition, in addition to 12 pupils from two other districts, went on to compete in the final regional competition on October 27th, one of the best days of my service.

39 pupils, their P3 teachers, and a mix of parents and headteachers from the Southwest of Uganda arrived at Bushenyi Core Primary Teachers’ College at 10:30 a.m., some from as far as five hours away. As each pupil registered, they received the homemade registration bibs that Hannah, Kris, Codie, and I had made assembly-line style the previous day out of scrap paper, duct tape, and yarn.





While they were waiting for break tea, Paul and an amazing P3 teacher from a nearby school organized games, songs, and icebreakers for the pupils. In no time at all, pupils in uniforms of all different colors were sharing seats, running to the latrines together, and gesticulating wildly as they debated the spellings of different words.





After break tea, the other PCVs and I stepped back and from there on out, it was entirely Ugandan-run. The Ugandan MC, an amazing man named Lebon, opened the competition with a prayer and the national anthem and the principal of the college and the District Education Officer gave heartfelt speeches in Runyankore. Their amplified voices, however, coupled with the rain that had begun to fall made many of the pupils' heads sink lower and lower onto their chests. But soon the rain cleared, and the entrance of the college’s Music Dance and Drama group made everyone snap back to eager attention. Many of the audience rose to their feet and began clapping and even dancing along with the group’s songs, dances, and drumbeats.








After the Music, Dance, and Drama presentation, the rules were explained and the pupils divided into two groups for a preliminary round. The schools, parents, pupils, and judges, a mix of teachers, tutors, and local language experts, were more excited and involved in the competition than I ever could have dreamed.






The children repeated words they were given silently to themselves, looks of concentration on their faces as they decided exactly how many a’s were in the middle of the word okutaaha before starting to spell. The parents and teachers actually mouthed the letters along with their pupils, giving satisfied nods and triumphant looks as their child decided that there were, in fact, two a’s. The judges smiled as they gestured successful pupils on to the next round and consulted their word lists and dictionaries seriously and often. I was struck by how much this could easily resemble a scene at a similar event anywhere around the world. An hour later, the arrival of the kitchen staff bearing giant pots of matooke and beans on their heads shattered this illusion somewhat. At the lunch break, 15 pupils were left to continue on to the final round after eating. And man, could these kids eat!






The pupils clamored in front of the serving tables for their favorites, which they so rarely get – matooke, g-nut sauce, rice, beef, "soup", and soda. Once everyone had consumed plates of food larger than their heads (the Ugandan appetite is truly remarkable), tables were placed in the middle of the two tents, the much duct-taped and only rarely on fire sound system was switched on, and the last 15 competitors, after an impromptu dance party while the judges were preparing. lined up for a series of much more difficult words.




Teachers scribbled furiously on their copies of the word lists as the children tackled words like amashémererwa, omunyongororwa, and ekiharáàni.






Soon, only two pupils were left and as competitor number 9 correctly spelled the word competitor number 2 had missed, the audience burst into applause. Gilbert, aka number 9, was swept into the arms of his teacher and handed over to the MC, who proudly declared him the winner of the first ever My Language Spelling Bee for Runyankore/Rukiga and therefore the recipient of an all-expenses paid trip to Kampala, the capital of Uganda, along with his teacher and parents.





The competition wrapped up as certificates were awarded, hands were shaken, and books in Runyankore were given to the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place pupils. As Codie, Paul, and I took down the MLSB banner in front of the now empty tents, we couldn’t stop grinning. We had spent the whole day surrounded by excited and eager children and adults whose enthusiasm for spelling, reading, and writing surpassed anything we’ve ever seen here before. As we headed back to the house for a debriefing and well-deserved relaxation, we reminisced over our favorite moments – children clapping, smiling, and laughing during the traditional songs and dances; a parent confidently quizzing his son while they waited for the competition to begin; a headmaster with a big goofy grin waving his arms in triumph across the tent as his pupil correctly spelled an especially difficult word; a judge gently asking if a competitor understood a word and beaming when he received an affirmative answer; a group of pupils muttering letters under their breath as they watched the final children compete; a teacher making copious notes about every word for next year’s competition. 

It was a day that I will never forget, a day where I began to truly understand that we are just here to plant the seed of literacy in Uganda’s fertile soil. Her people have asked it and her people will sow it. They are ready, they are capable, and they are remarkable.


To learn to read is to light a fire; every syllable that is spelled out is a spark. 
—Victor Hugo

Monday, October 13, 2014

Surgery in Uganda

Last week, I had knee surgery to try to remove the two pins in my knee that were starting to bother me here in Uganda – you certainly have to be much more physically active here on a daily basis than in the States! Hauling water, traveling with backpacks, walking everywhere, using pit latrines… Unfortunately, the knee surgery was unsuccessful, through no fault of the doctor’s. The bone had already closed over the pins, and because of the extensive probing they had to do, my recovery time was much longer than expected. There still are some options for my discomfort that the Peace Corps is going to pursue; this just wasn’t my solution.

However, my operation did lead me to discover a wonderful organization in Uganda, CoRSU, the place where I had my surgery. CoRSU stands for Comprehensive Rehabilitation Services Uganda. It’s a non-profit hospital that uses donations, international funding, and money from private clients to provide free life-changing orthopaedic and plastic surgery to children. 80% of physical disability in Uganda can be prevented, reduced or cured, but often the families simply can’t afford it. Children with physical disabilities and their families face a difficult time here. Ongoing medical treatments and accommodations for disabilities can only be a part of it – in some (but definitely not all) communities, physical deformity can still be seen as the fault of the parents or the result of witchcraft, which can result in rejection of the child and family by relatives and friends. 

While I was at CoRSU, I saw children with all kinds of conditions - clubfeet, cleft lips, limb deformities, tumors, burns, and something I learned was called post injection paralysis. Seeing what so many of them faced certainly put my own issues into perspective.The operations that CoRSU provides truly change these children’s lives in almost every possible way. While my surgery wasn’t successful, at least I know that the money that was paid for it went to an amazing cause.





On the sillier positive side, using Kris as my human crutch allowed me to show him physical affection in public! PDA is a big no-no here, even for married couples. Last week, I saw a sign from a major newspaper on the way out of Kampala that read “Government warns against kissing in public.” Check – we’ve been duly warned. The sight of me limping down the street while Kris supported me also garnered many, “Sorry, sorry,” comments from almost every Ugandan I passed and a lot of sympathetic inquiries into my health. It was an interesting difference from the U.S., where I feel that in many cases it would be rude to even show you had noticed. There is certainly something to be said for living in such a communal country as Uganda; the support from friends and strangers, phone calls asking after my health, and offers to make cow’s leg soup have truly been touching – if also sometimes a little unappetizing.

And, on the cool side, I got to remove my own stitches! With Kris’s steady hand on our wind-up flashlight and a variety of tools sterilized with supplies from our Peace Corps medkits, I snipped, sawed, and pulled out the three blue stitches. It’s the small triumphs that keep you going!

 Before...

Our assortment of tools.

...and after!

“Always seek out the seed of triumph in every adversity.”

- Og Mandino