“When will you come back?” – training teachers in Zambia

Lusaka traffic jam, detergent hoarding

Nearly five decades ago, when I left university, I wanted to teach in Zambia. The prospect offered adventure in an apparently stable African country, using my interests in language and education to do some good. But other interests and adventures intervened: I got married and began my career teaching in England. This year, I fulfilled my Zambian ambition.

Despite its long name, TTCSZ (Training Teachers for Community Schools in Zambia) is a small charity, set up in England on the initiative of Lyn Hall from Huddersfield University with her friends Dr. Christine Mushibwe and her husband Shadrick.  The charity has trustees in both the UK and Zambia. The purpose of the charity, as the name suggests, is to prepare local teachers for the challenging task of teaching large classes in primary schools which are not funded by the state. I understand that “community schools” provide more than 40% of primary education in Zambia; perhaps another 50% of schools are state funded, and there is a small elite private sector. My three-week tour entailed my working in Lusaka during the Easter holidays with Lyn and local teacher trainers; we trained 26 local community school teachers in a classroom in a private Catholic school.

Divine Providence Convent School sign

Despite my career as a teacher of English in both the UK and the US, during which I wrote a doctoral study of adolescent literacy practices and became the editor of an International journal, I was apprehensive at the prospect of volunteer work in Zambia. I had never worked in Africa, I had never taught children of primary school age, and I had never trained teachers of such children. I felt almost totally unprepared.

Like the callow trainee I had been 50 years earlier, I turned to the textbooks and other materials provided. TTCSZ has a good collection of books about teaching in Africa, and Lyn has worked with previous volunteers to flesh out the Zambian statutory syllabus with detailed schemes of work. Amongst the teaching approaches recommended, I recognised Pie Corbett’s ideas on teaching writing in the primary school, along with material from the UK national literacy strategy on the teaching of early reading through phonics. My work involved not only training teachers on methods of teaching English also on the theory and practice of learning. Here the TTCSZ resources were especially strong, providing clear and interesting ideas and activities to develop trainees’ understanding of the ways in which young people learn.

My daily schedule started at 8:45 in the morning, when we shared breakfast with the trainees. The first session, from 9:30 until 12:00, concerned the teaching of English. After lunch, the second session, from 12:30 until 14:30, focused on learning theory. Then, after a short tea break, I worked with Lyn and other volunteers to instruct the trainers in ICT skills. TTCSZ provided laptops for these sessions: there were no computers in the community schools, and few of the trainees had a laptop at home, although nearly all owned a simple mobile phone. The day finished between 16:30 and 17:00, but the teachers seemed reluctant to leave, and most arrived in the morning well in advance of the scheduled start.

Zambia ICT Students

The first session on the first day started with introductions and and an overview of the two weeks’ training. The teachers learned that they would be assessed at the end of the second week by giving a short lesson to the group on a teaching topic of their choice; they had to complete a detailed plan for this, with rationale for each activity and its sequencing. This initial session lasted for about an hour, and then Lyn introduced me as the volunteer English teacher from the UK.  I read Michael Rosen’s ‘We’re going on a Bear Hunt’ to them and spoke briefly about the unity of English: that speaking, listening, reading and writing were not discrete “skills” but different facets of meaning making.

But it was not my English teaching that got me into the swing of teaching in Zambia and reassured me that I would succeed in what I had undertaken. Early in the first week, while teaching the second daily session, on learning theory, I suddenly felt inspired. I had already noticed the strong oral disposition of the trainees. Some of the initial sessions were taken by local teachers who have completed the TTCSZ training in previous years; the trainees responded to these almost as if they were in church, repeating the tutors’ more portentous statements and participating in enthusiastic performance of sound-letter correspondences, poems and songs. So, when I approached the theory of learning, including its humanistic, behaviourist, constructivist, visual, audio, and kinaesthetic facets (the last three collectively known as V.A.K), it suddenly occurred to me to summarise these in song:

Humanism … (two beats)
Behaviourism … (two beats)
Constructivism … (two beats)
V.A.K! V.A.K! V.A.K !

Very simple, but it provided an aide-memoire to the class, who enjoyed repeating it. I forgot about this ‘song’ in succeeding sessions, but was gratified to find the trainees repeating it as part of a tribute on their last day.

The reason for the teachers’ strong oral disposition became clear to me as the week went on. As I suggested above, it was evident that practices of church attendance influenced their teaching styles. I was aware that some of the trainees were also church ministers; indeed, one drew out in conversation the verbal similarity between “preacher” and ”teacher”. These would have gained an income from the church that would offset the little or no payment they received from their school. I was struck also by the enthusiasm with which the trainees from earlier years (who were working as tutors alongside us) had adopted the UK national literacy strategy recommendations that pupils should use sound and gesture to reinforce their learning of letter-sound correspondences. They would exclaim <a> as in <ant>, running their fingers up and down their arms to simulate a pincer movement of ants; or wave their arm in the shape of an <s>, while making the hissing sound of a snake. But this came from more than a liking of performance. I realised, after speaking to teachers during the first few days, that their schools had few if any books. To motivate and involve the students, sometimes in book-less classes of 50 or more, oral and gestural rituals were invaluable.

Teacher holding books

I slowly came to realise that the teachers’ enthusiasm for the work, and their obvious liking of their visiting tutors from England, derived from our offering them a vision of a world where books and facilities were plentiful and teaching approaches correspondingly sophisticated. Every day, we took into the classroom several large boxes of picture books and other resources; they were delighted to receive sacks of books and learning resources prepared by Education students at Huddersfield. We involved them in group discussion, making presentations and other activities that are, let us hope, still common in English primary schools despite the attempts of government to reintroduce a Victorian regime of drills and skills. One headteacher in particular, who I learned later ran possibly the most deprived school in Lusaka, with neither electricity nor water, was passionately committed to her pupils and hungry to learn progressive ways of working.

Jack with book bag

This realisation, towards the end of my first week, gave me the spur and knowledge I needed to complete my work in a way I knew would be valuable. I would indeed be able to teach English as a unified subject, and encourage the teachers to be proactive in their extraordinary difficult situations. If the schools lacked books, we would make them. The teachers would engage in meaningful writing and produce resources for their pupils and themselves. We would draw on both personal experience and cultural tradition, and the intersections between these. English lessons became occasions when the teachers told each other and then the whole class significant moments from their lives, and then wrote them in whatever narrative or poetic forms they chose. They also used me and each other as their audience for traditional stories that often featured mythological human/animal characters.

young man writing

class focused on writing

By the beginning of the second week, we were nearly ready to make books. At Lyn’s suggestion, we bought several roles of plain anaglypta and cut them to make multiple-paged “big books”. The two and a half hour session when the teachers worked on these had an atmosphere of collaborative concentration that any hard-pressed UK teacher would die for. Because we had spent several hours in preparation before the teachers finally wrote up their stories, many of the books were very well-designed, interweaving text and image appropriately. However, most of the stories were very unlike stories written for children in the west. Poverty, illness and death (sometimes associated with HIV) were not unusual themes; in some stories, but by no means all, God or a sprit was invoked as a support. It was clear that, in Zambia, stories do not necessarily end happily.

Zilole title page

I photocopied every story and hope to publish some of them to raise money for the community schools. The teachers gave me and Lyn a wonderful send-off, with singing, dancing and presents: I have never felt so appreciated as a teacher. They asked us: “When will you come back?” – and I hope to return next year. Given the degree of poverty amongst these schools and these people, it is very encouraging, especially in these times in the west, to see the spirit of hope and productiveness that sustains teachers and pupils in conditions that we would find less than intolerable. But it is also an indictment of the state of the world that these appalling disparities are allowed to continue.

Trees at Belsey Bridge

The lime

is old and tall; fresh branches

protect its base with leaves.

The alder

has multiples of branches,

A spray of witch’s hair.

Leonardo’s arboreal Glad Day.

The swing

and goalposts in the playground

are sawn cylinders.

The fir is covered

with dangling clumps

Of serrated leaves,

but its trunk

Is densely wound and bound

with leaved ivy.

Other firs

are naked to their head.

Tall chimneys lift the house behind.

Where does the short avenue

of four tall trees

lead?

Us

 

Jordan Peele’s Us opens for the Easter holidays on numerous screens, as suits a film that is at the same time a genre horror with nods to Don Siegel, Steven King and Wes Craven and a powerful metaphor of the age of Trump and Brexit.  In 1986, young Adelaide King (Lupita Nyong’o) watches a TV commercial for the charity event ‘Hands Across America’, which enlisted 6.5 million people to form a coast-to-coast human chain to oppose poverty.  She visits a boardwalk funfair with her parents and is traumatised by meeting a mirror-image self in a deserted fun house.  Returning thirty years later to the area with her husband Gabe and children Zora and Jason, she and her family are attacked in their guesthouse by four uncanny doppelgängers in red jumpsuits, armed with giant scissors. These are ‘the Tethered’, an underclass condemned, like the Morlocks in H.G.Wells’ The Time Machine (filmed in 1960 by George Pal), to live underground deprived of the life chances of their surface-world contemporaries. These, however, are not so much ‘other’ as the same.  During a night of threat and violent conflict, a terrified Adelaide asks her alter-ego Red who the Tethered are. Red answers, ‘We’re Americans.’ And, in a poignant twist, it is finally revealed that Adelaide is in fact Red, who took her place that night in the funhouse. As the family drive away, the Tethered spread across the country in an an echo of ‘Hands Across America’.

The film has moments of unexpected humour.  During the fight, someone screams at Ophelia, an artificial intelligence like Apple’s Alexa, to call the police: she responds by playing the track  ‘Fuck the Police’.  In a brief break from conflict, Gabe references Home Alone; the children have never heard of the film, and Adelaide tells her husband that conveniently placed electronic toys won’t stop the doppelgängers.  More portentous is a resonant reference to Jeremiah 11:11 (‘I will bring evil upon them, which they shall not be able to escape; and though they shall cry unto me, I will not hearken unto them’).  As no-one has hearkened to them, the Tethered have risen against structural deprivation.

On the will of the people; or, the right to change one’s mind

IMG_0672 A banner above a crowd of two million at the People’s Vote demonstration in Westminster on Saturday 23 March 2019

This post is written mainly for friends abroad who ask what is happening to the UK, but the idea of “the will of the people” affects us all.

Theresa May, Prime Minister (for the moment) of the UK, has repeatedly claimed that Britain is leaving the European Union (the process known as Brexit) because this is the will of the people as expressed in the 2016 referendum, which she is pledged to deliver.

The phrase “the will of the people” has accrued complex meaning. To some, it represents a promise which, if broken, will destroy democracy in the UK. The government promised to implement the decision of the majority in the referendum, and people will lose all faith in the political process if this doesn’t happen.

This view disregards the fact that, legally, the referendum was advisory.  It required Parliamentary ratification. Ironically, one of the demands of those who campaigned to leave was to restore parliamentary sovereignty (which they claimed had been lost through membership of the EU).  Parliament should have reflected on the result of the referendum.  Even at the time, there were several cogent reasons to doubt the wisdom of the majority in this case.

One reason was that it was such a small majority of voters, and a distinct minority of the electorate. 17,410,742 people (51.89%) voted to leave. 16,141,241(48.11%) voted to remain. The turnout was 72.21%. Thus the majority comprised just 34.73% of the electorate. In matters of governance, the size of a majority matters. Democracy requires the consent of the governed, and, if a sizeable number disagree with a policy that affects everybody, there will be trouble.

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Another reason that was apparent from the start was that people had to decide on the basis of incomplete and, in some cases, misleading information. The best-known example of the latter was the claim that the National Health Service could benefit by £350 million a week if money that was currently sent to Brussels was retained by the United Kingdom.

brexit-bus

It became evident early on that many people were deciding not on the basis of a rational analysis of the economic and social benefits and detriments of leaving Europe but on the basis of inchoate feeling. This feeling was, and remains, the most difficult aspect of Brexit.  The impulse to leave is fuelled by a feeling that life in Britain used to better for the British.   It is a UK version of Donald Trump’s populist call “Make America great again” (including its racist connotations, as in the examples below: the Leave campaign emphasised the issue of immigration).  It is fuelled by the social and economic deprivation and inequality contingent on the housing, employment and education policies of recent decades.

The referendum wasn’t prompted by any democratic impulse to meet and resolve such difficulties. David Cameron, Prime Minister in 2015, wanted to assuage the resentment of the right wing of the Conservative party that had for decades sought separation from Europe.  The rise of UKIP (the small but extremely right-wing United Kingdom Independence Party) threatened him with the potential loss of votes, party members, and the loyalty of his parliamentary colleagues. As some of the placards at the recent Westminster demonstration stated, the result has been an Eton mess.

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And so a process that was prompted by a party political strategy has ignited a cauldron of conflicting ideologies and potential violence. In all this, the phrase “the will of the people” has been repeated ad nauseam to justify the implementation of Brexit, whatever the cost. As I write, I hear on the radio that plans are being made to use part of the M20 motorway as a holding area for the hundreds or thousands of goods vehicles that will be delayed if the border controls are re-established. And it is evident that no coherent plans exist to ensure the continuation of food and medical supply chains and the just-in-time transportation of vehicle and electronic parts to and fro Europe in the process of manufacture.

At this eleventh hour, we need to change our minds, and reconsider what we mean by ‘the will of the people’. The first thing to be said is that the phrase has a dishonourable place in the history of fascism. Leni Riefenstahl’s infamous propaganda film of the 1934 Nazi rally in Nuremberg is titled Triumph of the Will.  The “will”, here, is the power of a mass movement. The associations of “the will of the people” with Nazism resurfaced in November 2016, when the Daily Mail published a headline and associated article about the three judges who had ruled that the UK Government would require the consent of Parliament to give notice of Brexit.  The headline and story chillingly echoed those published in a German newspaper of 1933.germany1933people-judges-jpg_large

Here, the “the people” are represented as an oppressed multitude whose authentic “will” is denied by established power.  Again, Trump draws on the same structure of feeling in his campaign rhetoric, inciting the audience against those who, he implies, are not on their side.

In a parliamentary democracy, the will of the people can be expressed in broadly two ways: directly, by such means as a referendum or petition; or indirectly, via Parliament, which is elected by the people. Today (Tuesday 26 March) it appears that Parliament will take hold of the Brexit process.   There is a faint hope that it will enact the delegated will of the people by considering all the circumstances and making a wise decision. And there is the possibility of a second referendum. Thirdly, and most intriguingly, a recent petition (on a government website) to revoke Article 50 (which gave notice of the UK’s leaving) and stay in the European Union is gathering signatures at an exponential rate. This may yet prove a game changer. As my daughter said: “Who needs a referendum when you’ve got the internet?”

Screenshot 2019-03-25 22.59.18

The will of the people – or of many people (police estimated  2 million) — was strikingly expressed in a People’s Vote rally in and around Parliament Square on Saturday, 23 March. I went with my daughter, who climbed on a traffic light to escape the swirl of the crowd and take photographs.

People filled every inch of space. The photos cover a 200 metre crawl from Trafalgar Square to near Parliament Square, where we gave up and turned round to move equally slowly towards Embankment underground station. Here announcers threatened closure because of the crush. The atmosphere was both good-humoured and deadly serious. The will of the people is evident in the pictures.

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For a structural analysis of the issues and a view on the unrest that is likely to follow Brexit, see this: https://www.quora.com/Will-there-be-riots-if-Brexit-does-not-happen/answer/Richard-Lyon-41?ch=10&share=fdbcb7e5&srid=u41Ur

Doing a Turing test

Turing-HarrisonFord

Recently I initiated an online chat with Apple support because I had a problem with my iPhone. The agent, Jayson, told me to turn the device off and on, but this didn’t fix the issue. Jayson then suggested I have the phone serviced by Apple, and arranged an appointment with the ‘technicians and geniuses’ in a local store. I thanked him and this exchange ensued:

Jayson
You’re most welcome! Thank you for your kindness, understanding & patience. Much appreciated John! Was I able to help you today?

Jayson
By the way ~ May you have a prosperous 2019!

John
Thanks for your help.  Bye now.

Jayson
I really appreciate you John, Don’t forget to eat your breakfast, lunch & dinner okay,? Its been my pleasure assisting you today, again my name is Jayson. Have a great day and take care always~

Jayson
All is well! You deserve the best in life and Cheers for a great 2019!

TuringTestRunning a very elementary Turing test on this dialogue reveals that Jayson is an artificial rather than human intelligence.  He (it) says things that no adult human agent would say in this situation. Yet Jayson’s mistakes are almost human, like those of a toddler learning to use language. He writes his own name phonically rather than conventionally. He can’t deal with my question – beyond the standard remedy of turning the device off and on – and so passes me on to the adult Apple technicians and geniuses. Unlike a traditional machine, he expresses affection and care: he wishes me a prosperous 2019 (in March) and reminds me to eat regularly, as his parents might have told him. No human programmer would make these mistakes; Jayson’s algorithm needs the capacity to adjust its warm, supportive language according to the season and the relationship.

Within a few years, it will become much more difficult to know whether one is ‘chatting’ to a human or machine agent (although we shall probably assume the latter). And this of course raises the question of the nature of knowledge: given appropriate technology, could a machine learn so adequately that the distinction between human learning – a activity of the embodied mind – and machine learning is elided? In Bladerunner 2049, there is no evident difference between the humans and the replicants. In Cultural Literacy (1988), E D Hirsch states that researchers in artificial intelligence have concluded that knowledge is the key component of all cognitive skills: ‘Once the relevant knowledge has been acquired, the skill follows’. Machine learning, according to this view, is not a mere simulacrum of human learning, but its paradigm.

This view clearly has very profound implications for educational policy, and aligns with current influential views on the teaching of language.

To be continued …

Flares of memory

family1955-1.jpg

My grandmother to the left of me,  my brother and father, in 1955

I remember as a boy visiting my widowed grandmother, who lived nearby.  Sometimes she emerged from the smoke of a bonfire at the end of the garden. As a young woman, around 1905, she worked in a photographer’s shop in Ealing.

The bonfire this afternoon was higher than my waist.  I needed my raincoat, hat and boots in this chilly autumn weather.   I dropped the matches as I tried to bend into the centre of the laid branches.  I thought I might fall as I held onto the upper branches of the bonfire, scrabbling in the darkness.  Should I be doing this kind of thing at my age?

I follow Fred into the dark room, as he calls it.  I haven’t told my mother about my new work in the photographer’s shop.  Fred is only a few years older than me.  My father certainly wouldn’t approve of his daughter working alone with a man in the darkness.  My eyes slowly grow accustomed to the red glow of the safety light. I can see the outline of Fred on the other side of the table, pouring chemicals into a metal developing tray. I’m scared, but excited.  Should I be here?

Having located the matches, I reached down and struck the sandpaper edge of the box. Sodden with paraffin, the rolled pieces of newspaper soared orange, leaping into the dry stacked wood and beyond the green branches.  It reminded me of the magnesium flares we used in night photography – fifty years ago now, before my marriage, India, George’s death and the return to England.

Fred lays the photographic paper in the dark developing tray. In the dim red light, milky white patches appear.

I stood back. Already the fire was crackling and thick grey smoke was streaming upwards from the leaves and branches.  The heart of the fire was ravenous, all consuming, transforming green shoots to black char. Small pieces of burning paper arose and descended.

Fred picks up the paper and moves it into the fixing solution in the adjacent tray. I can see figures, on a beach perhaps, the sky in the negative image darker than the sea.  Will I be able to do this work, produce pictures out of pungent chemicals in a blackened room lit only by a safety light?

The fire was dying along with the sun as I gathered my tools and walked through the garden towards the glow of the living room.  Another day of my later life.

 

 

 

Anthropomorphic crabbing 2

I say: Shouldn’t we put the crabs back in the water? There are so many crammed together in the bucket.

Syd says: Don’t worry!

Bibi says: Crabs live together.

So we give them some bacon.

And let them out to ‘race’ to the quay edge …

One fell on its back on a ledge

But we got a stick

And knocked it into the water.