I came in after the sun had gone down, and Miss B looked me up and down- dirty water boots, dirty clothes sticking to me, dirty machete, dirty face, dirty, bloody, blistery hands, and asked the only logical question: “Taylors, where yuh gone?”

Today was one of those days at the school where it seemed as if all events were consipiring to prove just how broken the system really is. I had brought my laptop and modem in to class, because during after-school homework help (which I am trying to have at my house at least twice a week, if not more), one of my girls had asked if she could use it to look up something for an assignment.

The next day, she asked to use it to do another students assignment, so I decided to bring the computer to class and allow (what I thought were) the one or two kids who hadn’t gotten a chance to do the project, which was due Monday.

This was a very simple assignment by American standards. It’s track season in Jamaica, and there have been a number of meets at the school (the winners of the regional competitions go on to Champs, which is this huge high school track event. It’s hard to impress upon an outsider just how big Champs, and track in general, is in Jamaica). The teacher who got saddled with PE asked my 7th graders to choose a Jamaican track athlete (of which there are no shortage), write up a quick blurb about who they are, their accomplishments, and include a photo.

Now, to your average 7th grader back a farin, this would take 15 minutes. Just hop on the computer (either at school or home) by themselves, find some articles, a picture, read the articles, select certain key points to write about, and do the thing.

Here, well… the assignment assumes two things:
1) Access to a computer, internet, and a printer, and more importantly:
2) LITERACY

First things first.

We DO have a computer lab at Claremont All-Age, in the most literal sense. There is a separate outbuilding, with many computers inside. These computers do not work, because it appears that someone has been stealthily scrapping them, piece by peace.
But, you at home are like, “Oh, that’s too bad. But they could go to the public library in town! Or to one of the many internet cafes!” My friends, that requires money.

Many of the students live in surrounding rural communities, and have epic taxi rides to school. One of the many issues surrounding Jamaican education is exactly that: the cost of transporting students to schools, which is borne by the parents. Many times when a kid isn’t in class, it’s because there isn’t money to pay for the taxi. (Unfortunately, for girls, this can be solved by having sex with the taxi driver.) 70% percent of the students I work with (one class of 35ish kids) are on the PATH program, a government program that pays parents to send their kids to school, and provides the children with lunch and a supplemental snack (for more accurate descriptions of the program, google it. I can’t be bothered at the moment). A trip to an internet cafe, or the library, with taxi fare, hourly cost of internet access, and a charge to print the picture could run as much as JA $500 (probably about US $6), which is just OUT OF THE QUESTION. And we haven’t even touched Assumption Number Two.

If you’ve talked to me at any length about the work I do at the school, you know this already, but for those who haven’t, my 12 year olds are not reading at their grade level. Those who CAN read, that is. Many, many of them barely get by with the most rudimentary basics. Some do not know their alphabet, not even the letters that make up their own names: they just know what shapes to make on the paper.

Even those more advanced students struggled to complete the task in under an hour because the Jamaican educational system is based on learning by wrote- the teacher writes something on the blackboard, the kids copy it down. Critical thinking, analysis, selective note taking, all these skills an American middle-school takes for granted are just not there. The students would literally look at the web page and copy everything word for word, with no regard for the meaning. I had to try and teach them how to pick and choose information, (not to mention the meaning of plagiarism).

With many, I had to spell almost of the words for them as they wrote, which took forever, because I was having them sound it out with me. Others required me to write a letter so that they could look at it and see how they should do it (“an ‘H’ looks…like….this….). To some of them, I read the webpage out loud, and then simplified it further, coaxing them into telling me what I had just told them so I could write it down for them (with a note at the bottom saying “As dictated to Miss Taylor by so-and-so).

What I thought would take up only the lunch period took over the whole day, because NONE of the students had been able to do the assignment. Needless to say, no one had a picture of their athlete, because I can only do so much.

AND OF COURSE, while ALL of this is going on, there is the usual crap: the older students (8th and 9th graders) who cannot be controlled barging in to the classroom, being incredibly rude and disruptive, with no regard for my authority. Under so much pressure, I, uhmmmm, errrr…..lost my temper.

Corporal punishment is, I guess, illegal in Jamaica. Whatever. Kids still get “beat” in schools. I’ve seen it. It usually consists of kids getting smacked hard in the shoulder blade, or pinched. It does nothing. The students are still unmanageable, because they just do not care. They get the same, and probably more at home, and if they can tolerate this for a second or two, they can go back to doing whatever the hell they please as soon as the teacher has gone back to the front of the room. It seems to be much more effective as a means of venting frustration for the teachers then as a deterrent to bad behavior.

I, obviously, do not beat the kids. But I do get incredibly angry. On good days, this means I bring out my father’s “Voice of God” (heard by yours truly only twice). Usually, this works. On bad days -like today, lord help me- the pitch of my voice approaches screaming. Then I go to the teacher’s bathroom and cry, collect myself, and carry on.

I came home sweaty (its almost summer here), heartbroken, and furious at the system for failing these kids (who are such sweet, funny, amazing characters one on one, and demons from hottest hell in groups of more than three) in absolutely every way imaginable. In short, I was ready to Fuck Shit Up. So I did the next best (and actually acceptable, socially) thing: pulled on my Hunter wellingtons, grabbed the machete and a shovel, and built the first of three planned retaining walls for my garden.

I have always wanted a garden, and my host mom has given me carte blanche to do whatever I want in the yard of the little cottage next door (the Sherbert Shoebox is soon to become Casa Severns). Literally, whatever I want. The first major landscaping project is to convert the little (really little) hill between the house and the banana grove into a terraced garden.

There is plenty of scrap lumber hanging around the yard, which is perfect for my needs. We have a saw. We do not, as I discovered, have a hammer. Or rather, we did, and it has taken itself away somewhere, never to return. However, there are no shortage of rocks. None. Rocks for days. So I grabbed one, and started pounding. I highly recommend construction projects (even if you have to use Stone Age tools) to vent frustration. Every time I smacked the top of a stake with a rock, a little more anger flowed away- although I am still pissed, if I hadn’t brought in my laptop, NONE of those kids would have been able to complete the project. HOW could a teacher who works IN THAT SCHOOL be so shortsighted?

BUT what the main point is, is that I was able to feel positive about SOMETHING today. There is one tiny little corner of the universe over which I have complete dominion. In Peace Corps, that goes a long, long way.