Travel Archives - Page 29 of 39 - Maggie InkMaggie Ink

B-I-N-G-O!

December 10, 2010

I was trying to come up with an interesting method reviewing numbers with my English students in Kigali, Rwanda.

Bingo!

I’ve never given too much thought to the game until I started making cards from scratch. (Like, why there is a free square? I’m still puzzling over that.) But I had a hunch this would be a great way to integrate learning with fun.

Armed with my new paper cards and a jar full of bottle caps, I was ready to go.

And so were they.

The most best part of the lesson: Teaching everyone to stand up and scream, “BINGO!” when they have five bottle caps in a row.

As prizes, I bought a stack of English-Kinyarwandan pocket dictionaries. The books are intended for tourists in Rwanda, but they contain enough practical English phrases that my students can use.

The game was a definitive hit. So much so that I made new cards, using words they’ve learned instead of numbers. (In addition to helping them quickly recognize written words, the winner had to define each word on their card for the class.)

My class wanted to play round after round, begging me to extend class just a few more minutes … and then a few minutes more.

Of course, bingo here means much more than bingo. My class is made up of people who have had trouble making ends meet ever since the 1994 genocide. Now they come to the school to learn a trade, like sewing, jewelry making and basket weaving. With some English under their belts, they can sell their goods at the market, local gift shops and hotels, as well as communicate with tourists and visitors.

Here bingo is not just a game — it’s a ticket to something better.

And I couldn’t be more proud of them.

Thank you note

December 8, 2010

It’s raining in Rwanda.

As much as I hate rain, I can’t help but huddle on this little porch, knees curled up against my chest and tucked under my fleece hoodie. With all the trees hugged by mist and fog, the effect is pretty damn magical.

I’m constantly filled with wonder that I am here. When I think of all the steps it took to get to this country, this place, this porch THIS VERY SECOND, it almost seems impossible. But here I am.

I marvel at how many people have welcomed me into their world: The women that I teach, the school that has become a home, the hostel that is my haven, the revolving door of friendly faces.

Even though I’m no good at gardening, I feel like I’m cultivating something here and watching it grow. And that’s worth a little rain.

Just do one thing

November 26, 2010

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about personal responsibility. Where do I fit in this big crazy world? What is my role? What should I be doing for my fellow humans?

Nothing illustrates that concept quite as well as the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg, South Africa.

The museum is exactly what you’d expect — emotional, educational, horrifying.

Stories of resiliency and heroism are squelched, stomped and strangled by pure evil and hatred. You’re left with barely any hope for humankind.

But then there is the last display.

It’s two piles of smooth stones, divided by a path. Visitors are encouraged to remove a stone from one pile and place it on the other. Of course, it doesn’t take long before one pile is considerably smaller, the other dramatically larger.

It is a simple statement, but it is a powerful one.

I started this trip with enormous plans to make a difference, change the world, have an impact. But several months into this journey, it’s been incredibly frustrating to see that the need is so great, and I am so small. It feels like I can’t do anything at all.

The Apartheid Museum changed my perspective.

See, change doesn’t come from one person doing a million things. It’s a million people doing one thing.

I think sometimes we try to make things more difficult than they really need to be — especially when it comes to sweeping concepts like hate, fear, power — but it’s really just that simple.

Everything you do has an impact. Every action matters. And if you need proof, think about all the tiny steps it took to end apartheid.

One stone on top of one stone eventually becomes a mountain.

On the menu: Typos

November 25, 2010

Happy Thanksgiving to all my U.S. friends!

In honor of this food-centric celebration, I wanted to post a few items I spied on a cafe menu in Rwanda:

Condimental breakfast
Bread crambed fish
Ovacados
Catalane dressing
Foccacian bread
Beef with homemade groovy
Weept creem
Chopped paisley

Getting schooled in Soweto

November 24, 2010

Because my life includes a number of educators — like my dad, sister, husband and multiple friends — I’ve been trying to get inside as many classrooms as possible during this trip.

That included a primary school in the heart of Soweto — the South Western Townships of Johannesburg, South Africa. The visit was arranged by our host and her friend, a representative for Discovery Channel’s global education project.

You’ve probably heard of Soweto before, because it was where many blacks were forced to live during apartheid. It’s also where Mandela lived before and after going to prison.

In 1976, the townships gained worldwide attention during the Soweto student uprising, a series of protests that became a turning point in tearing down the oppressive apartheid regime.

The protests were in response to the National Party government, which tried to force all schools to teach lessons in Afrikaans instead of English. In a country with 11 official languages, where most kids and teachers didn’t speak Afrikaans, this was yet another way to withhold education and opportunities from black citizens.

So thousands of students took to the streets in peaceful protest. The police opened fire and killed 23 youth. That inspired riots, which eventually resulted in 566 deaths.

With the violence in the past, Soweto is an exciting and unusual mix of shanties and glittery mansions, potholes and newly paved roads, artists and former political prisoners.

At the school we visited, the children receive lessons via a Discovery Channel global project that gives them books, lesson plans, videos and other equipment they otherwise wouldn’t have.

Like other kids in South Africa, they go to school from 8 a.m. to 2 p.m., Monday through Friday, January through early December . All of the students at this school are black, which is reflective of Soweto’s demographics. About half of the kids spoke Zulu better than English, so the teacher spoke to the students in a mixture of both languages.

Inside the third-grade classroom we visited, the kids prepared a special presentation called “South Africa: My Country.”

The kids then performed a couple songs and some traditional dances. They colored the South African flag, put together a South African map and wrote words to describe their country, like “desert,” “mountains” and “animals.”

Most of the students were extremely shy, though a couple of them asked questions about me. Like, why do you talk like the people on TV?

One little wisp of a girl stood up and recited a speech she wrote about what it means to be South African. Her face was earnest as she said, “Just because you come from a township, it doesn’t mean you have bad behavior.”

It made me tear up.