RSS feed9th Grade Algebra
Monday, January 18, 2010
Saturday morning we were up before the sun came up, in the car and on our way to Iringa town. Part of me was simply eager and excited about having the chance to speak again here in Tanzania after being gone for so long, and part of me was happy that we were going to drop Josh off in Mafinga with Zamu so that the two of them could spend the day shopping for Susan to restock the house with food and everything else, but part of me just wanted to spend the day with Godfrey and Emmanueli. To laugh is a good thing. To talk of serious things is a good thing. To get to be together again the three of us after all these months is indeed a really good thing. I truly have simply missed being with them these past three months that I had to be in America.
We were to visit three high schools, to share with students about Village Schools Tanzania, and to challenge those who would be graduating next month to get involved with us in this ministry. When we got to the first school, it was quite obvious that Justin had definitely done his job -- the room was already packed before we arrived and more people were crowding in as we entered. It was the same thing at the other two schools, and I felt all the old energy coming back to me as I rose in each place to tell them the story of my life and how I came to see that what God wanted me to do was to spend my life me to serve Him. To give those who would otherwise never get the chance to go to school that opportunity to do so. To share the Gospel with my students and with their families. To enable others to join with us in this great and grand effort to change the course of the history of their country. To make sure that one day all children, no matter how poor their parents are, or whether or not they're parents are already dead and unable to help them, they all at the very least get the chance to go to school. Would they not want to examine their own lives and ask God if maybe He didn't want them to be a part of this work as well? It was the same challenge I had taken countless other times to churches, universities and schools, here in Tanzania or in America, but I never tire of telling of what God has done these past years in villages across this country of Tanzania, and I never tire of speaking of the truth that God wants His people to help the poor and the needy. It doesn't matter if the rest of the world doesn't care, God wants us as His people to care -- and to do something about it!
Godfrey and Emmanueli and I have spent many a Saturday speaking these past few years. But this was truly a unique Saturday. Part of it, certainly, was because the results of the national examinations had just been announced and the crowds of students who had gathered to hear us speak, already well aware of the rather stunning results of some of our schools, clearly were overjoyed and showed so in their applause and their energy and their enthusiasm. Part of it, certainly, was that there truly does seem to be this intangible and yet real desire among Christian young people -- and I sense it on both continents -- to make their lives count for something other than just getting a good job, and instead to make their lives count in God's sight by doing something of value for the poorest of the poor. But as I think back to what I remember about the meetings at those three schools, what particularly stands out was the fact that Justin was there.
Justin was the one who had gone to each of the schools and got the students to ask the school authorities to invite me to come and speak -- and he was the one who had met with large and small groups, talked to individuals, spoke in classrooms, to personally invite people to come on Saturday to hear me speak. Justin and I go way back to when he was a 9th grader and I taught him algebra. 9th Grade Algebra -- how I loved it! How tall Justin was now after all these years! He looked like the university student that he is today and it felt good in my heart to know that he is now in his first year studying. What made Saturday special at each school was when I stopped in the middle of my speech and turned around and asked Justin to stand up and tell them how many classrooms he and his students and the people in the village of Idiwili had built. In each place he managed to pause just the right number of seconds so that he had the crowd hanging in anticipation for his answer.
12 classrooms Mzee. At each school the room errupted in applause, and I allowed myself to just look at Justin and smile while they clapped and clapped. How many young men on this planet can say that they organized the building of 12 classrooms for a school? And all I could think of was the scrawny kid in 9th grade who himself was never supposed to get to go to school, whose father had died, whose older brother had died, who we kept in school against all odds, and here he was standing before a group of hundreds of students telling them that he had built 12 classrooms in a little village.
And how many students at your school took the Form 2 national examinations? 146 Mzee. At each school, I let them applaud that answer, and I turned back to the crowd and said, listen, we're talking about 146 students who were never chosen to go to secondary school, 146 students who were told that there was no room for them, 146 students who were told that they would never ever get to go to school again, 146 students who worked with Justin to make bricks and to haul stones and to build those classrooms. Those are the 146 students Justin is talking about.
Now Justin, how many of your students passed?
All 146 of them Mzee. The applause and the real joy and the excitement on people's faces was a sight to see. At each school I let them show their joy and then when they quieted down, I asked them the tough questions. What was it about Justin's school that caused all of his students to pass when everywhere else in the country we know everyone is in sadness over the truly poor results this year, and last year, and every year. How is it possible that in the government schools that they can choose the very best of the best out of each village, the kids get fed every day, they have electricity to study with, and yet still they fail the national examinations in droves? And then we have VST schools and we take everyone, the B students, the C students, the D students, the kids with no shoes, the orphans, those who have been out of school for years, and we tell them to all come, that together we will figure out a way for them to stay in school. How do they end up passing? How did Justin's school end up beating out every other school in its district in Mbeya? "How did that happen?" I demanded of them. And I let their silence be defeaning so that the fact that they had no rational way of explaining it was evident to all.
And that was where I got to talk with them about the special nature of our teachers. Hezbroni who came and taught geography for six months teaching every period and extra periods after school, exceling at teaching because he was on a mission to make sure that in those months he could give his students the very best understanding of gegraphy that was possible. Anderson who was determined to do the impossible -- to teach kids who were convinced that they couldn't understand physics to not only understand that subject but to excel at it. Missionary teachers who came from across the ocean to teach English. It is a calling. It -- is -- a -- calling! I let myself punctuate every word for emphasis. It is looking deep inside of ourselves and asking if God wants us to give of ourselves for a semester or two, to live in a small village, to work with the poorest of the poor of this country, and to somehow against all odds, cause them to understand things no one would dream that they could understand. I let them all applaud and then as the applause finally subsided, I was blunt with them. Bu do us all a favor, don't come if you are looking for a good salary, don't come if you want an easy life, don't come if you're looking for thank-yous, and don't even come even if you are a very strong Christian and you want to serve the poor and you want to share your faith ... that's right, don't come even if you really want to come and to do good for those who are in great need. If that's your only reason for coming then we don't want you and we don't need you. Come only if you are convinced in your heart that this is what God wants you to do and you can truly say that you are coming out of obedience, obedience to Him. Come and we will serve together, we will run schools that will serve the poor, we will run schools which share the Gospel, we will run schools with discipline, run on Christian principles.
Most of them, I know, won't come. But some will. I am confident that God will indeed call some to come and serve Him, because the fields are ripe unto harvest and the workers are few and more workers are needed. Some of those workers are going to come from amongst His people here in Tanzania and some are going to going to have to travel by airplane to get here. But He will call some to come serve with us.
One of those who is going to serve this year as a teacher with us is my son Joshua. In fact, today was his very first day of the new school year and his very first day in the classroom. I know that he's a little young -- he's only 15 -- but he's as tall as I am, and he really wants to teach, and he's awfully good at Math. He'll take two hours of his own school day so that he can teach here at Madisi. The irony is not lost upon me that he'll be teaching 9th grade Algebra. There will undoubtedly be some Justins in Joshua's classroom this year, just as there were in my 9th grade Algebra class many years ago.
