Going to literacy school with Baba

Tuesday, 8/9/11

After weeks of seeing Baba, one of the guys who works for my shea co-op, study his kindergarten-level Bambara, I finally went to "his school" with him - and I'm glad I did. As I've said before, more than three out of every four Malians cannot read or write. Seventy-five percent of the people in this country do not have the luxury of literacy. In America, every child learns to read and write (yes, there are a few left behind, but in general, we can all read and write). Mali has one of the worst literacy rates on the entire PLANET. Literacy...is a luxury.

I kept seeing Baba write in this little notebook. One day, I asked him what he was doing, and a smile opened up on his face like I had never seen on him. He said he was studying Bambara and counting.

He showed me his notebook, and in it, were precisely written "js" and "1+3s," written repeatedly on the straight line. He told me he goes every day at 12:30 to get there on time. He told me I could go any time.

For Tuesday, we made plans to go together.

We left at 12:30 P.M., and he rode in his arm-powered, wooden and steel wheelchair and me on my Peace Corps-issued mountain bike. Noon-ish is the absolute most furnace-like time of the day when the sun scorches. We "biked" 40 minutes there, across a part of Kita I had never seen before. He greeted about 90% of the people on the way there, with a huge grin on his face, showcasing the awesome attitude Baba carries around each day.

When we finally got to the schoolhouse, I was freaking drenched in sweat and Baba was gleaming, not tired at all. Haha. Typical! Also typical, though we were 10 minutes late and not a single student or teacher were there. Ten minutes late to class in America is worthy of getting kicked out of class. Ten minutes late in Mali is more like "You're crazy for showing up so early."

I think Baba has polio. His feet are little and crumpled beneath him. This is a huge problem in Mali. I don't understand why the vaccinations weren't given...but in any case, there are a lot of people who live in Mali, and a lot who work at my service, who I think have polio. But the ones who work at my shea service have the best attitudes of anyone. They can and do anything they want, with more skills than most other Malians I've seen.

As we approached the school house, Baba parked his wheelchair next to the concrete steps and put his kids-sized flip flops onto the palms of his hands. He then dragged himself out of his wheelchair and propped himself up onto the steps. He followed me to a small concrete bench built into the porch of the schoolhouse. We sat there for the next hour and a half and chatted until the first student arrived. An hour and a half late into a two hour class.

While we were waiting, Baba informed me that a lot of the women students don't show up to class early (or even at all) because they have to work in the fields, cook, take care of their children and then bathe, before they can come to class. He explained that's why no one was there yet.

When the first student arrived, Baba walked on his hands to the chalkboard, where, conveniently, a bench was positioned right next to the chalkboard. He then pulled himself up to the bench and started writing his perfect numbers and Bambara on the blackboard. He took his time writing, to make sure it was neat, readable and perfect. He then sat up there, in front of the class and waited for more students to show.

He told me that there are usually 30 students in class, but, because of all the work needed to do in the fields, most of the students can't come. Eleven out of the 30 students ended up coming to class. The work in the fields really MUST come before anything else. For most Malians, if they don't farm, they don't eat. Most Malians live off of the food they grow. What if there's a bad rainy season? Well...a lot of people go hungry. Not fasting for fun hungry like I'll be tomorrow, but hungry hungry...like food rationing, extreme malnutrition and starvation.

Once the 11 students trickled in, one by one, I realized that Baba is not a student! He's a teacher. Duhhhhh Laura. His lesson for the day was "9." The class of all women, in their 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s...were learning how to write the number 9. They practiced writing "9" over and over on their tiny chalkboards. They practiced "2+7=9, 6+3=9, 4+2+3=9" and then went through the rest of the numbers, 1-10.

It was humbling to see grown women struggle to write a number. Some women wrote "6s" as "9s," backward "3s" or unreadable, upside down, backward numbers. Can you imagine seeing a 40 year-old woman in America struggling through writing a "3?" Someone who can't even write her own phone number? That's one of the biggest differences between America and Mali...the luxury we have of access to education. Again, thank you taxpayers.

Education is fucking important.

The women were so sweet. There was one lady who was so proud of her work. She looked at me from the corner of her eye as she raised her chalkboard, high and proud, to show off her number-writing abilities. There were ladies who were embarassed, probably moreso because I was there. There were ladies wearing burkas, with babies strapped to her backs, with bags overflowing because they had just left the fields, with their faces covered because of a sickness. But they were all there, despite their backgrounds, challenges...they were there to learn to read, write and count. I am thankful to witness it.