iambeckyroar!
 
I arrived at Hatsalatladi with no idea what to do or where to go, but with a clear mission in mind.  Although the roles of Peace Corps volunteers in their communities vary according to the person, program and village, I had starting concocting project ideas before ever seeing my site.  When I arrived, I was determined to start a pre-school.

The main motivation for my project was a conversation that I had had with Mr. Dikobe during training, in which he explained to me some of the problems his students face in school.  For students entering Standard 1, lack of preparedness is a large issue.  Most incoming students are around age 6, which is a little late to learn how to read and write, let alone hold a pen and behave in a classroom.  They are especially at a disadvantage when it comes to learning English.  Starting a pre-school could help alleviate some of these problems.

I pitched my idea in all of my introductory meetings, asking for input and getting emphatic nods in response.  In November, I spoke with the teachers at the primary school, who advised me to meet with the Village Development Committee (VDC).  I met with the VDC in early December, and we agreed to hold two meetings the following week: one to inform the village stakeholders of the plan and the other to select a pre-school planning committee.  

No one, not even the majority of the VDC, showed up to the first meeting.  I sat and waited for two hours and, with the few people who did arrive, we agreed to attend the village meeting the following day and simply elect the committee afterward.  I went home feeling defeated.  The next day, I sat through a long and confusing meeting in which I understood very little, and then afterward nudged the VDC treasurer.  She stood up and began speaking about the pre-school while the crowd looked at her with surprise.  A couple people asked if they had to stay, while others looked around the meager group and realized there was a good chance they would be roped into this committee.

Mayhem and rapidly spoken Setswana ensued.  They group spoke over and pointed at each other, singling out people as nominees for the committee.  Many protested, claiming they were too old, too busy, too tired.  After a lot of overt bullying and peer pressure, ten people were nominated.  They stood in the center of the kgotla, our communal meeting place.

"I think Kenosi should be chairperson," someone said.  Kenosi nodded, and was heretofore in charge of the committee.

"And Hosea vice-chairperson," another person added.  Hosea shrugged, looking disgruntled.  He was one of the people who had been bullied into the committee.

The placements went on as such, and then suddenly I had a committee.  I was told I was Public Relations.

The pre-school planning committee met for the first time in January, after summer break ended.  Of the ten members, six showed up; I was pleased.  Mr. Kenosi and I had a made an agenda beforehand, which is unusual here, in the hopes of making the meeting go smoother and faster.

Meetings run very differently in this country; Batswana are usually late and reluctant to talk, but they also believe that everyone should say their piece and speak as much as they want.  Thus, meetings take forever.  These meetings are also filled with long, drawn out periods of silence.

The first task for my committee was to make vision, mission and goal statements; as a loud-mouthed, outspoken and academically competitive American, I had plenty of suggestions to put on the table.  But since this project now included others outside of myself, I resolved to keep my mouth shut and let them come up with ideas.  I regretted this choice; our conversation was like pulling teeth.

When we did start talking, we also kept spiraling off into new directions -- where would we get a building?  Money?  A teacher?  What about a temporary building?  Could I be the teacher?  In the midst of writing a vision statement, we had an entire dialogue about opening the pre-school in August 2012 in a temporary building with me as the teacher.  I imagined myself in charge of 30 screaming four-to-six year olds and cringed.  Something I have learned about myself in the past few months is that I do not like children.  If that makes me a bad person, so be it.

I decided to let the subject slide, given that it was a far-fetched and distant plan, and should it come up later I would just not do it.  But the group brought the topic up again a few minutes later, and I finally acted.

"Actually," I said mildly.  "I am not a teacher."  They laughed, as if I were making a funny joke.  "And the government requires whoever teaches the class to be certified, which I am not."

Giving up on the agenda, I pitched a fund raising idea.  Using the primary school's television, I would show movies and charge a pula for admission.  The committee liked my idea, and I said I would speak with the primary school teachers.  (When I did, the teachers were not too keen on this idea, saying the TV would get stolen.  I want to make it happen anyway.)

The group then skipped the item on the agenda about mapping out a schedule for planning the school, decided writing a community impact statement was unimportant, and made a to-do list for next week.  Frustrated, but aware that I am an over-achiever even by American standards, I let them do as they pleased.  I guess, at the end of the day, it doesn't matter if things are done my way as long as they get done.

This week, we have a meeting with stakeholders (I hope people come this time) and another planning meeting (I hope people come this time too).  Our goal is to be open by August 2012!  Wish us luck!

 


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