Going Home Stupid

As the P.3s were exiting the library and lining up to return to class, I saw the push. The tallest girl in line violently shoved the girl next to her, sending her hurtling toward, and nearly colliding headfirst into, the wall. Having just failed in my attempt to discipline another student, I was not about to let this go unnoticed.

“Excuse me!” I said angrily, storming over to her as best I could between children and shoes. “Why did you push your friend?”

She looked ahead in line, avoiding my stare and clearly uncomfortable with the confrontation. “Why did you do it?” I asked more gently this time, curiosity beginning to nudge out the anger. She remained silent.

“Teacher Loyce, is it okay if I keep her in the library for a few minutes?” I asked. Loyce nodded and I beckoned for the girl to follow me inside, which she did reluctantly. We sat on the mat, me facing her and she facing the books, still avoiding eye contact.

“I need you to tell me,” I said in a voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you push her?”

She stared at the books. My pent up anger had ebbed enough that I no longer wanted to slap her, but several hot tears fell from my eyes in exasperation. We sat silently for more than a minute. Eventually, I hoped, she would have to talk, because I didn’t know what I would do if she refused and this escalated into something bigger and unnecessary. As I began racking my brain for other ways to handle it, she mumbled something. “What?” I asked. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”

She paused for a moment, then, barely moving her lips, said, “She was passing me in line and abused me.” I could have guessed that. However, it was only half an answer and I was curious.

“How did she abuse you?” Silence again. I waited about twenty seconds, but then a surge of anger and impatience welled up. I moved so I was seated directly in front of her and, fighting back tears, said in a shaking but forceful voice, “You have to talk to me if we are going to sort this out. How did she abuse you?”

Still not meeting my gaze, she finally opened her mouth. “She said I was going to go home stupid.”

Now, honestly, the children use the word stupid quite a lot, most often when referring to another person. It always bothers me and I reprimand them, but this was different. Perhaps it was the fact that she could not meet my gaze, or that she seemed more closed off than angry. Her frown and body language suggested that at least in part, she believed it.

There was no containing my angry tears at that point, but instead of being angry with her, my heart had shattered. How could children be so cruel?

I took a deep, unsteady breath. “What is your name?”

“Faith.”

“Faith, look at me.” She did. “You are not stupid.” Another deep breath. “You are not stupid, Faith… Do you believe that?” She nodded, only a slight movement but an affirmation nonetheless.

“Do you like school?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you try hard in school?”

“Yes.”

“How old are you?”

“Ten.” That meant she was a good two years older than most of her classmates. Whether she started late for financial reasons or has been kept back I do not know, and I did not ask.

“Your friend should not have said that, Faith, but no matter what people say, you need to know it is not true. You need to believe it is not true. You need to believe in yourself. I guarantee—I guarantee—Teacher Loyce believes in you and that you can learn; otherwise she would not bother teaching you. And I know you can learn. But most importantly, you need to believe it for yourself. You cannot listen to people who put you down or say you are not good enough. For the rest of your life, if anyone abuses you or calls you stupid you need to remember the truth in your own heart. If you keep coming to school and working hard, you will make sure you do not go home stupid.”

I commented on pushing people not being the best way to handle things, then let he go back to class. How much of what I said she picked, I do not know, but I can hope. All I could do for the next few minutes was to sit with my head between my knees and my hands clutching my hair and let my tears fall onto the straw mat. If this starts in P.3, where does it end?

At the beginning of last year, a mother brought her son, Boaz, to Piet to see if he could join the vocational program without the secondary school portion. He had attended primary somewhere else but failed his Primary Leaving Examination the year before. She told Piet her son was stupid. With Boaz sitting right next to her, she told someone her son was stupid.

If your own mother thinks that and makes it known, what would keep you from believing it?

I worked with Boaz on reading and English for four months last year when he repeated P.7 here at Noah’s Ark. I suspect he has ADHD or something similar because his main problem was in concentration, not understanding. It was slow work, but I saw some progress. Oh, how I wanted him to pass the PLE, to be able to show his mother what he could do!

About a month before the exam, his performance took a downturn. He stopped doing homework and was more aloof than usual during class. He lost every piece of paper I gave him. I talked with him a few times, tried to motivate him by telling him of the progress I had seen. I told him he was not stupid and asked how it would feel to show his mother PLE results with passing marks this year after what she had said. He would improve for a day or two, but not consistently.

I think at that point he knew he was not going to pass, but wanted to do it on his own terms. It is less embarrassing to fail when you do not try than it is to put in effort and still fail.

Sometime last year or the year before, I cannot remember now, Francis stopped coming to school. After awhile, Headmaster Moses went to his house to see what was going on. Francis’ mother had made him stay home to make bricks. She said he was too stupid for school and could better spend his time making money for his family. Somehow Moses convinced her to let Francis return to school, but something like that does not leave a person unscathed. I worked with him for four months as well.

Both boys failed the PLE. Now Boaz is enrolled in the new vocational program here and my best guess is that Francis is home making bricks.

When the girl who told Faith she will go home stupid becomes a mother, will she say the same thing to her own children? Does her mother say it to her now? Does she believe it? What abuse has she endured to cause her to abuse like that? Where does it end?

After leaving the library yesterday, I came home and sat in my doorway to try and process my emotions. It was a rare afternoon when I could peacefully be home without children running to my door every five minutes. Perfect for thinking and feeling.

The gardeners had cut the grass that morning, so my verandah was littered with green clippings and soil. When I had been sitting still for some time, two tiny birds ventured onto the verandah and began picking through the clippings, looking for suitable nest material. Their red and brownish-gray feathers lay smooth on their backs and the birds were so small I could have easily fit them both in the palm of one hand. The two of them skipped around, picking up blade after blade of grass and trading each one for a better, preferable piece.

“I care about them,” God said.

What peace can come from such a simple, unexpected sentence.

Yes, God cares about them. Of course He does. And if He cares about two tiny birds building their homes, how much more does He care about Faith, and Boaz, and Francis. How much more will He care for them, no matter how adamantly or violently the world tries to throw them down. They do not belong here anyway. Heaven is their home… and they will not go home stupid.

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. (Luke 10:29-31)