Fail. Fail. Fail.

As the class matron for Grade 8A, it was my duty to write a comment on each pupil's report form at the end of Term 3 in December.  I had seen unclaimed report forms from previous terms and was saddened by how generic, oversimplified, and even condescending they seemed: "Very poor results.  Simply try harder."  I hoped I could offer a sensible and more uplifting alternative.

Two weeks after the term's end, I found myself alone in the school head's office, flipping through the file that held each pupil's form.  Most of the end-of-term grades were written in, and I had the attendance register at my side so I could reference it.  My hope was to make each comment balanced, encouraging, and personal.  Unfortunately, my main focus that term--co-teaching grade 1--meant my attention was focused on learning the names and personalities of the 100 pupils in that grade.  Additionally, the teacher with whom I had to agreed to co-teach maths for grades 8 and 9 had left unexpectedly early in the term, and it was never entirely clear who was assigned to take his position.  (Needless to say, maths were taught infrequently at best for the next eight weeks.)

So I found myself looking at a list of names, only a handful of which I knew.  Having not taught any of them, I didn't know their classroom comportment or behavioral idiosyncracies.  Nonetheless, I was determined to improve on "simply try harder."

Grades in Zambia are rather different in composition from those in the U.S.  A teacher in any subject there can point out a breakdown of every assignment and its value, and students can and often do focus their energies on certain projects based on how much weight they bear on the final grade.  Not so here.  Pupils are many, teachers are few, and (as any teacher anywhere can confirm) the time it takes marking papers is extraordinary.  Assignments are most commonly short exercises, following a few examples, and written in a bound exercise book (so pupils can't hand individual papers in) and corrected in class.  This Example-Exercise-Mark protocol is embedded in school culture, interrupted only by mid-term and final exams, which for some inexplicable reason are given in a unique timetable outside of the normal class schedule, so that two weeks (or more) out of every term are devoted completely to exams, and not to learning.  The class grades are then compiled exclusively from these exam scores.  The exercises give practice to the pupils and vital feedback to the teacher on whether or not they've understood the lesson just taught, but the scores stay on the page of the pupil's book, in the all-important red ink, and come end of term time it is an exam (or two) alone that determines their success or failure.

As I saw flipping through the pages, one for each pupil, the balance was comfortably in the hands of Failure.  There were a few 1s and 2s (the highest marks--no A, B, C, or Ds here) and a smattering of 3s and 4s, but the overwhelming presence on the pages was F--fail.  Fail.  Fail. 

I could have predicted as much.  (In fact, when the deaf pupil was sent away because an administrator felt the school was ill-equipped to teach him--or at least that's the light I cast the decision in to make it more palatable to me--I said to a friend, "Yes, it's true, he probably would fail.  But most of the class will fail.  At least he would have learned something and made some friends!"  So I wasn't altogether surprised to see the poor results.  I was disheartened, though, because even though I didn't know most of the pupils individually, I had been to "prep"--night study time at the school--and watched them studying.  I know the effort it takes to come to school--scrounging up the K80,000-100,000 (US $16-20) school fee and uniform components each term, walking or biking far every day or living in the dorm (single-sex buildings with two empty rooms of concrete walls and floors, where students sleep on shared reedmats and blankets and do all their cooking, cleaning, and otherwise caring for themselves).  One of my brothers is not related to my host family at all, but rater bikes 50km down a dirt path at the term's start and lives with my family, away from his, for the next 13 weeks, because this school is the closest one (offering grade 8 and 9) to his home.

So the effort made just to show up every day at school is a significant one.  The children--or rather pupils; children is a bit of a misnomer as a number are 18 or older--are not, of course, always "serious"--they're teenagers and have a lot of other goals in their day beyond learning the past continuous verb form of English--but they do, fundamentally, want to learn.  And while I have plenty of beef with Zambian teachers, who can frequently find a plethora of reasons not to show up at school (ranging from rain to, no joke, "a dog ate one of the chicken's eggs"), as well as with the Zambian system that allows these absences to go on while the teachers still collect their civil servant paychecks, most of the teachers do, fundamentally, want the pupils to learn.  In this case, two volunteers--teachers untrained and unemployed by the Ministry of Education but recruited, hired, and paid by the school/community had carried the bulk of the Grade 8 and 9 subject load.  I had observed them all term showing up and teaching and I could see their dedication.

And yet--despite pupils who want to learn, and teachers who want to teach--failure almost across the board.  What are we doing wrong?

And now these pupils, though encouraged to repeat grade 8, would advance to grade 9.  The fact that they made it to grade 8 marked one hurdle leveled already; places are offered only to those who pass a standardized grade 7 exam.  But it's multiple choice, so by luck many students enter grade 8 despite being illiterate.  The grade 9 exam is different.  There's little multiple choice, and while the exams are sometimes frustratingly riddled with errors, they are difficult and written in English, the official national language but one that continually overwhelms and intimidates the pupils, who take notes (copied verbatim from the board) in it daily but generally haven't a clue as to what the words they're writing means.

The grade 9 exam marks, for many Zambians, the ending ritual to their education.  Students must pass (with a score of 40% or higher) at least 6 subjects to advance to grade 10.  A few will repeat grade 9 if they're unsuccessful, but most will just go home and work the fields (or in the case of many young men, hang out and drink away the day), marry, and have children.  At least three girls in grade 9 were already pregnant.  Another generation will be born to parents who can't read and understand a newspaper article.

My comments to the grade 8 pupils were, in the end, still fairly generic: "You have great potential, but it's essential you come to school every day,"  "Try sitting near the front of the classroom and don't be afraid to ask questions,"  "You have a great attitude and you work hard; let's find ways to improve your English in grade 9 as it will help your performance in all subjects."  And now many of them are in grade 9, where I'm co-teaching math with one of our superbly motivated volunteer teachers, mixing it up by piling on homework (two assignments in the second week alone, a large departure from the norm) and otherwise fiddling a bit with the system.  I've been in my village for 9 months now.  I have 15 remaining; this class is the only one I'll accompany through an entire school year.  My hope is that somehow, there will be fewer Fs on report forms in the coming December.