School is In

A sea of pink shirts in military formation greets me in English as I walk into the classroom. The 63 students clad in the unisex short-cropped haircuts and rosey livery of the Nalerigu Area Secondary School are crammed into worn and vandalized old-fashioned wooden desk-and-chair combinations. They have been awake since 6:30, dressing, sweeping their school grounds and dormitories, visiting the dining hall for porridge, and standing in line. They are already falling asleep on their feet, slouched against disinterested arms on the surfaces of the old desks. I'm invading their Social Sciences class, however, and having a grinning white girl this thrilled to be teaching seems to be a rare occurance. Within 10 minutes, they're asking tough questions about contentious issues; within 15 minutes, I'm getting a very clear, very interesting perspective on education in a country that recites litanies about teaching being the only road to development.
Having a background in constructivist education methods made me completely unprepared to face 60 adolescents trained in a very militaristic fashion. The same institution that claims to be grooming the leaders of tomorrow that will change the world is demanding their imitation of the leaders of today. Compliance appears to be the golden rule: the hierarchy of the school is strictly enforced, with the headmaster strictly controlling his teachers, prefects in charge of every class and dormitory, and the voices of boys clearly out-ranking and out-powering girls in classroom activities. The questions I am asked are fraught with undertones of chauvinism; “In Ghana here, we have this polygamous marriage; how many wives can I take in Canada?” “In Canada, if I have a wife, how many children am I allowed to make her bear for me?” “In Ghana here, they say that there is this thing where men have sexual intercourse with other men, and other deviant behaviour—is it illegal in your place?” I find my answers redirecting the question towards the girls of the class, sitting quietly and demurely, gaping at my pallor and smirking at my ease of speech. I find myself reacting with vehemence—“homosexuality is not a deviant behaviour where I come from”, “In Canada, you would need to ask your wife how many children she wanted to bear for you—and you would have to listen to her.” “In my place, if you marry more than one woman, they put you in jail.” The gasps, giggles and barrages of questions morph into discussions on the differences between attitudes and values here and in the West; it becomes apparent that the teenagers in front of me have never thought that maintaining a developed country is so much work.
I leave the class a twittering mass of voices in excited conversation; almost everyone is discussing something about Canada, development, or me. I leave the class satisfied, but slightly disturbed; to me it has become clear that there is a lot of work to do with the youth of today, before they can forge a better tomorrow.