Schools in Tanzania

While I have so much to say, it has taken me forever to sit down and write this blog. 1) Because we have been incredibly busy, and 2) I don’t think my writing in this blog can do justice to what I have experienced since I have landed in Kilimanjaro airport.

Yesterday we visited two schools – a secondary and a primary. It was life changing.

In Tanzania, primary school consists of k-7th grade, and secondary is 8-12th grade. The government gives very little money to the schools and so families have to pay schooling fees to keep the schools up and running. Schooling fees seem cheap at first glance, about 30,000 shillings (around 20 US dollars) per student. However, when some families make only 1,000 shillings a week, it is easy to see how many families never make payments.

You always hear the heartbreaking rumors and see the graphic images on TV surrounding schools in Africa. After seeing it in the flesh, I can say that everything I heard was more heartbreaking in person – and surprisingly elevating.

At the secondary school there are around 1400 students and 60 teachers. We visited classrooms with over 50 students in them. The school cannot afford enough desks or textbooks for each student, and so 20 students would share one textbook and some students would stand during lessons. There is no provided transportation to and from school, and some students walk or ride a bike up to 25 km (one way) to school each day.

At the primary school there were over 400 students and 16 teachers. The school had one computer. Again, students were sharing textbooks. The classrooms had no electricity. Some students walked up to 5km to get to school each day.

These two schools are located in an urban location and were some of the better schools in the area. We were told about some schools in rural areas that have around 400 students – and one teacher.

One might think it would be completely depressing to visit these campuses – but I found it one of the most inspirational, uplifting, and humbling days of my life. From the moment we set foot on each campus we were warmly greeted by the students. The children waved and called out “Karibu!” (welcome) to us. At the elementary school they had prepared a song to sing to us. When we walked by a classroom students would run to the doors and windows to wave hello. After completing our school tour at the secondary school, the Headmaster and teachers prepared tea and snacks to honor our visit.

Visiting the campus, I could feel guilt swirling around in my stomach. Who was I to complain about my double digit salary when teachers here could get paid less than five hundred dollars a month? How about all the times I have moaned about not having enough computers on my campus when here 400 students will learn technology from a book and occasional group visits to view one computer. I can’t believe how I have argued over the necessity for more nutritious lunches in our school cafeterias when schools here provide no food at all and some students do not eat every day as a result.

As I laid in bed that night revisiting the schools in my mind I realized that perhaps that guilt I felt wasn’t really about how much “better I have it“ in the good ‘ol USA. Yes, it is incredibly unfair that students in the United states have one computer per classroom versus one per school. However, don’t ALL children deserve better?

I think my guilt came from wondering if I have ever displayed the passion for education that these school communities do day in and day out.. These teachers, despite overwhelming odds ( and meager pay), come to school everyday without complaint. They thanked us for our visit, and provided us with the utmost hospitality. Without textbooks, paper, desks, rulers, glue, or staples, they courageously teach each day never stopping to think that their work can’t get done because they do not have supplies many teachers in the U.S.A. deem necessary. They love their jobs.

While going to school is mandated by the Tanzanian government, it is difficult (again due to funding) to enforce. Despite this, and all the insurmountable odds, children still choose to go to school – even if it means walking 25 km to get there. These children see school as a privilege. The work they showed me in their notebooks and the way the spoke to me about their learning showed such pride and dedication. In the eyes and voices of these children I am reminded of the reason I chose teaching as my profession.

These students and teachers make me proud to call myself and educator.