School Ties

Student life at Rosary does not resemble the care-free school days I remember. Breakfast is at 7:15am - a cup of coffee and a scone. Class all morning until lunch at 12:40 - boiled kau kau and another scone. Schoolends at 3:10. Then the students (on a rotating schedule) perform community service - gardening and farming the school grounds. I do not know what these chores have to do with community service. Dinner is at 5:30pm - kaukau, greens, scone and tinned fish. No one is able to talk about the mess hall without a grimace. There are some things you cannot 'unsee'. I dare not walk into the building. Night study begins at 6:30pm and runs to 9pm -2 ½ more hours, stuck in a classroom after they have been in one all day. Lights out at 10pm.

The days start early on the weekends as well. More community service, more study time, community mass and even a section called 'quiet time'. The kids do get to play sports on the weekends and it is a necessary release. I'm surprised they don't kill each other on the playing fields. They are in the middle of a vast valley yet are confined to stuffy classrooms all day long. Then again, I imagine that most boarding schools around the world mirror a similar schedule.

Most students are under serious pressure from their families and communities to perform well in school and to move on to tertiary-level education. In some cases, the entire village has contributed to the school fees. The student is seen as an investment. If the child moves on to college and gets a white-collar job, they can kick back a portion (usually a hefty one) of their earnings to the family. If the student returns home they are seen as a failure. These expectations are largely unfair. There are few, high-paying jobs and the number of available slots (more Secondary schools, same number of universities/technical colleges) in college drop by the day. Over 80% of the students at Rosary used to move on to tertiary level education. That figure has dipped below 50% and continues to fall.

While the opportunities to receive higher education have fallen, parents' expectations have not. Schools are trying to adjust to this trend by offering more 'relevant' subjects - a move supported by the Department of Education. Practical skills, such as farming and carpentry are being introduced in order to prepare the growing number of students that will return to their villages. This shift has not been embraced by the families paying the school fees. They are clinging to the belief that a school should prepare their children for university. They don't want their child wasting time in a farming class when they could be preparing for the national mathematics exam. It's a challenging dichotomy.

The truth

I participated in a fantastic meeting this morning that was not only a microcosm of my PNG work experience but could also have served as the subject of an sociology course. While the subject of the meeting, in and of itself, was rather pedestrian, the nuances of the idea exchange were phenomenal and highlighted the stark differences between cultures and the understanding of why VSO is working in PNG.

VSO has undergone a change in philosophy in regards to their international education program. Essentially, the organization wants to move away from service delivery (ex. teachers teaching English) towards capacity building (assisting teachers in building curriculum, programs… 'teaching teachers').

VSO feels, and I do as well, that this kind of position can have a positive outcome on a greater number of people.

Well, this was explained this morning to the principal of Rosary. He did not take the news well. In fact, I thought he was going to start weeping.

Our diplomatic explanation did little to cushion the blow. Under duress, the truth came out as the principal went on a telling diatribe.

The rant (in essence):
You VSOs come to Papua New Guinea and Rosary has done so much for you and spread the good word about your organization. Now I see you want to pull out of our school. VSO has taught us things and now other schools are doing the same thing and we get nothing in return. Now I see all the VSOs working in Kundiawa, stealing our volunteers. This is a sad day…

To break this down:
· The principal thinks we owe him because he has spread the good word about VSO. This, quite simply, is ridiculous

· We do not want to pull out of the school - we simply are changing the focus of what the volunteers should be doing. Furthermore, Rosary has received a steady flow of volunteers going on a decade. No other school in the province has enjoyed this kind of attention - not even close.

· The principal is ticked off that other schools have borrowed ideas that Rosary has implemented. This is exactly what VSO (and the department of education) wants to see happen.

· 'stealing our volunteers'… this deserves its own paragraph
For years, Rosary has held a monopoly on international volunteers. This was a huge feather in the principal's cap. It made him a big man. He was able to strut around and laud about members of HIS staff hailing from England, Holland, USA, etc. Now, other organizations are getting the resources that only he once enjoyed and he is furious. And frankly, he's being a big baby about it.

I felt a little bad about the logistics of the meeting. It was scheduled for 11am, so me and the other two VSOs were sat and situated five minutes till.

We had ample prep time for the principal did not join the meeting until 11:30am. He sat on the other end of the table. What was supposed to be a simple meeting in which we explained what we wanted to do with the school next year turned into a lugubrious affair. You would have thought someone died. It was rather colonial - the three evil white men at one end delivering a message of harsh reality to the village leader. It was a tag team effort too - with the three of us interjecting different points in a concerted effort. We overwhelmed him and it did not seem fair. To compound the tone the power went out in the middle of conference, providing an ominous setting of despair.

On the other hand, I think it was the most effective meeting I have been involved with in PNG. In my experience, too much effort is concerned with pomp and circumstance and not enough energy is devoted to the task in hand.

Over half of the meetings I attend are devoted to the opening prayer, addressing of speakers, thanking of contributors, repeating of points and the closing. A lot of fluff. Challenging issues are tiptoed around and decisions are rarely made. Everything is pushed back to another meeting, which often never comes. Frustration is just not a strong enough word.

The snap

Culture shock is the term they use to describe the anxiety a person endures when transitioning into a culture different from the one they are accustomed to. I believe, when going from a developed country to a developing country, there is a distinct moment where you decide to either resist or concede.

You snap, and there are two ways you can go.

I know exactly when I snapped. It was on the way to Mt. Wilhelm to climb the mountain - a maddening ride with ridiculous complications that were contradictory and puzzling. During the ride, I gave up. I stopped trying to control everything. Everything became very simple. Since then, I have floated through my time like in a strange dream.

Another friend of mine snapped - the bad way. He was furious with the selection at the grocery stores. He was enraged by the phone service and his inability to email his friends. He was frustrated with the progress he was making with his placement. He refused to accept life in PNG. He snapped and made the call to VSO. He is going home in two weeks - 1 ½ years ahead of schedule.

Things are going to happen. You are going to schedule a meeting and nobody is going to show up. You are going to be talking to you parents for the first time and the power is going to cut out. You are going to purchase a phone card with 100 minutes and when you go to use it, it will say your minutes are used up - and you will not get your money back. You are going to order a beer and open it and discover that the bottle is filled with dirty water.

I saw my friend Robert yesterday. A rather stoic, tall Dutchmen who works in Kundiawa. He has the arduous task of visiting the remote schools in the province and promoting the use of a relevant education matrix: a complicated development tool that I barely understand. He was almost robbed. He has walked terrible distances in the mud. His phone has not worked for months.

He travels half a day to meet with representatives of a school to find that they all went home for the weekend. Despite all this, when I saw him step out of his truck yesterday he was brandishing the goofiest smile I have ever seen. His mannerisms were such that I thought he was drunk. And then I understood: he had snapped. He has given up and is now on auto-pilot. He's here for another year and there is not a doubt in my mind that he will make it to the finish line.

Threats, tires and hefty bags

The principal has threatened to shut the school down due to lack of funds. This happens every year and most schools, including Rosary, will shut down at least a week early. This year is a bit different. The governor of Simbu Province promised to pay half of the school fees for every student in the Province - this was the cornerstone of his winning campaign and really a crazy promise that he knew he could never fulfill. So, at the beginning of the year, the parents forked over half of the tuition costs - enough to cover two terms of the four-term school year. Meanwhile, the governor gave Rosary around 16,000 Kina - which is around 5% of the money he promised and can barely cover three weeks of food rations for the student population. So here we are, halfway through term III and the reserve funds are drying up like a puddle in the desert.

Now things get interesting as the political posturing begins. The principal advisor, on order from the governor, has told the schools that they are forbidden from asking the parents for the remainder of the fees - this would rain shame down on the governor for reneging on his promise. In response to this, the school has threatened to close the school. The principal advisor came back, demanding that the school remain open (the advisor knows how much money the school has in reserve funds). Still, the reserves will last only so long and the school has already purchased food on credit. The school does have some firepower - the national examination for grade 10 and 12 students is scheduled for the end of the term. These examinations determine which students move on to the next level of education. If there is no school, there are no exams. If students miss exams, there will be outrage and potential violence.

Tire rolling is the undisputed game of the moment for the young male division (ages 3-12). You take two sticks, hold them on the opposite sides of a tire, and run behind it. All day long. Tire rolling knocked off the previous champ, marbles, who had held the title for over four months. I don't really know what the girls play - they stick close to home.

PNG is very 1950's, in regards to gender equality. Men are the thinkers and doers and women are the home-makers. For instance, I have helped to put together a relevant education awareness campaign in the Simbu Province that was kicked off by a province-wide Poster Competition. The students were asked to come up with a poster design that illustrates how they have applied the knowledge they have learned in school at their home communities. The only submissions I have received so far are from the boys - the girls just assume they are more talented and leave this sort of thing to them. (this was explained to me by a teacher, when I inquired about the male-only entries) There is also a nation-wide math competition open to all students - again, only male applicants. The message is clear for women: graduate from school, find a husband, start making babies.

On the flip side of that coin, women work harder then any man that I have seen. On top of cooking every meal and taking care of the kids, they tend the gardens and haul surplus crops to the market to sell. I see women all the time hauling tremendous loads up and down the roads - the satchels are wrapped around their heads and rest on their hunched-over backs. Just grueling work. This scene is often coupled by a man, strolling idly by with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. I would not say chivalry is dead in PNG - it just has not got here yet. The women pay the toll for this lifestyle as they age at a rapid rate. They go from 30 to 80 in about ten years. We have the loveliest little librarian here at Rosary who I would have sworn is 75 years old. She is 53.

Two sentences

Some days I really love it here and I look around and admire the beauty and the wild rides into town are like a roller coaster and the people are so genuine and all the little inconveniences seem almost cute and I love the cool mornings and the breezy evenings and the piles of books that I would never have read and my simple weekends and hiking in the untamed terrain 100 yards from my house and the kids that stare at me in wonder and the secretary in the office that greets me every morning with 'moning Maaaaaark' that makes me weak in the knees and the great rains that come at night and the South Pacific Export beer and the fresh bananas and papayas that are picked off a tree down the road and Friday afternoon drinks at Mt. Wilhelm hotel with John and Marie the bar lady who I have a crush who happens to be 16 years old and Rugby League and the ladies at the market who smile when they see me and the old timers who call me 'boss' and kids on the road who yell 'WHITE MAN!' when we roll on by and the ladies at the computer shop who cheer with me when I can actually connect to the internet and our principal who giggles like a kid and owns a bright, pink coat that makes him look like a 9-year old girl and the students who call me Mr. Bower but pronounce it wrong and badmitton against the Philippine priests on Saturdays who tear me to shreds and curry chicken and the genuine reverence I receive when I tell people I am a volunteer from the USA and the singing from the church I can hear from my porch and 'Supersound' on Thursdays and all the magnificent people from around the world that I get to hang out with and that strange feeling I get every time I leave the campus because I have no idea what is going to happen over the course of the next few hours and on these days I just can't imagine being anywhere else in the world.

Some days I hate it and I am sick and tired of looking at the dirty town of Kundiawa and the children without shoes and the groceries without food and the awful bumpy ride on the highlands highway and I can't stand my one channel on the television with the commercials I have seen 1000 times and I am sick of hearing dogs barking and babies crying and the church bell that rings every morning at 6am and I close my eyes in disgust when the power cuts out for the second time that day and the internet I had been waiting to get on for a week does not work because somebody vandalized the communication tower and I can't call the VSO office because the phone lines are down and the meeting I scheduled for 3pm still hasn't started at 3:30pm because everyone is on 'PNG time' and I can barely look at another tuna sandwich or corned beef and noodles dish and I hate the mosquitoes that I can never kill until they have already sucked the mud out of my shoulder and the fact that everyone stares at me and watches every single move I make and the creepy men at Mingende who are pissed on steam and yell at the world and the drunk guys that hang on my arms and tell me how much they love me and spending another night alone in my house looking at a two month-old Sports Illustrated and a novel with missing pages because the school nun tore out the ones she felt inappropriate and on these days I just want to walk into McDonalds and order 4 Big Macs without onions, a large Coke with extra ice since I can get refills, buy a USA Today and only look at the pictures, sit in a corner where I can be anonymous and call every friend I know on my mobile phone and revel in my Americaness.