A couple of weeks ago I played charades with my 4th grade creative arts class. They acted out (however reluctantly) everything from Rhianna to elephants. One option I included was our Head Teacher: Mr. Korir. The kid that pulled out his name hesitated momentarily and then proceeded to to air whip an invisible miscreant; Mr. Korir was immediately identified by the surrounding class. At the time I found this very funny possibly because I had only witnessed the occasions where the kids got hit once on their bum for forgetting their handkerchief at dinner or for neglecting to change out of their school uniforms for P.E. lessons. It didn't seem too bad. Teachers walking around with their honed sticks used for easily accessible whips is a part of life at Lessos Educational and this form of punishment is something that I've become accustomed to.
Last Friday I walked into my creative arts lesson and sat in the back for a while waiting for the Kiswahili teacher to finish. She was strolling the aisles of the classroom asking a question, and to all that raised their hands (80% of the class) she gave a sound slap on the back with her handy stick. Although the students cringed before each hit, they nonchalantly rubbed their backs afterward knowing more was to come. I didn't find the sight so entertaining. It had been put in perspective for me a few days earlier by a conversation I had had with students about life at the school.
The previous Monday I sat outside with a couple of kids trying to convince them to play cards with me. After several rebuffs, I gave up, and asked them instead what they think of Kenya. This question has been burning in my brain for a while, because every Kenyan I have talked to has wanted to leave Kenya for either the UK or US. They rarely have anything positive to say about Kenya beyond brief comments on the climate and geography. I wanted to know what they liked about Kenya; if they were to leave, what would they miss? Typically the conversation spun towards education, which it seems is a main reason for getting out of the country. We wound around to Lessos Educational, and I found out, to my surprise, that many of the students are unhappy here. A 6th grader named Silas tried to explain it to me.
He started, eying warily my cards, by saying that if they were to be caught simply within the vicinity of cards they would be beaten. He recalled one of my first nights in Lessos when I taught him and a kid named Eugene how to play chess. A teacher (infamous for his affinity to make good use of his stick) had come up ready to "murder" them, which they escaped because they had asked me to get permission from the head teacher for the lesson.
A few girls told me that the teachers often won't stop the beating until the student cries. Silas compared peoples' reactions to the thrashings to drug addicts. They get to a point where they don't care about their test results because they know they'll get beaten anyway for missing one answer, so why not fail? The result is the same. They have so adjusted to the overwrought abuse, they no longer fear it. As we made our way to the dinner line, Silas pointed out another six grader who had been hit 24 times the previous day for participating in the mad scramble for seconds at dinner. The teacher with the inclination to use the stick walked past just then and smiled at me. The conversation came to a screeching halt.
That night I went to the six grade study session to continue the conversation that had broken off. Luckily we had a black out that night and I could talk to the students more freely, without having to fear a teacher walking in to see them not studying or catching any of our conversation. I went to the far side of the room to sit down, and I heard the scratching of the desks as they were pulled around me; I could barely make out the students teeth and the whites of their eyes. They wanted to know what I thought of the discipline.
I had decided that they ought to know that these punishments would not be accepted in America. I told them that the great thing about America is that people can challenge laws and advocate change; they have input into government beyond the representatives and presidents they elect. The six graders were shocked that a child could sue a teacher for touching him, claiming abuse. I told them that I didn't necessarily agree with the outcome of these cases challenging the constitution, but I now appreciate more the process. Kenyans have no such outlet.
When they asked me what I thought of corporal punishment (not the exact term they used), I faltered. What did I think of it? I have heard before someone say: "If you don't do the right thing for the right reason, then you'll do the right thing because you fear the consequence". I am inclined to agree with this statement, however, when institutions adopt this policy, they risk putting a weapon in the hands of people that are perhaps addicted to the power, or too readily get carried away. Is it worth the risk?
I told them all of this because I hope that they would be more inclined to fight it if they are aware of a different way of doing things, as opposed to yearning even more to flee. I want them to feel that Kenya can change if they feel that is necessary. However, there would be so much at stake. Under the President Moi, people were secretly tortured for challenging his government, fortunately one escaped and was able to reveal to the people what had happened. It is not as easy as it is now in the U.S.
