I've been teaching and living here in Kinshasa long enough for certain things to become everyday, unnoticeable. I've made amends with the riches my students have and the kinds of poverty it brings to many of their lives. I am aware of the power many of them are surrounded by on a daily basis and the thoughts of entitlement it often leads to.
There are other things to become accustomed to as well. No mail service. Lack of reliable connections for phone and internet. These things often lead to frustration and miscommunication - or missed communication. People collect SIM cards and numbers from multiple phone service providers in hopes that at least one of them will be capable of catching a signal at any given time. Snail mail is a thing of luxury and a sign of status. (US Embassy kids can be easily spotted in the lunchroom by the ever sought after fruit roll ups and Rice Krispie treat snacks they have received through "the pouch.")
Our school is in the process of installing an intercom system that promises to be reliable and clear in communication. But our disaster preparedness drills still involve a messenger coming to the door with a hand held sign "Code Yellow" or walking around the parking lot hand cranking a siren. So it was not really surprising to me to hear, in the middle of math class one day, a knock on the door and a hand delivered message from one of our office assistants.
Things turned a bit bizarre however when I noticed the envelope. It was not the large, plain office envelope that tuition notices or school records come in that are to be sent home to parents through their child. This envelope was of the letter variety, the air mail letter with blue and red markings dotting the edge.
"The driver is waiting for a response." I was told. What? I am in the middle of teaching. I opened the letter, scanned it - becoming more and more incredulous- the parent wanted to arrange a meeting with me in two hours. I started explaining why it was impossible to meet in two hours (students, class, professional duty...) and then finally made a big decision. They'll have to wait.
"The answer is no and they'll have to wait. I can't respond to this now." The assistant was slightly aghast and unsure how to leave without the required response. From the corner of my eye, I saw the student in question surveying the scene. She had been attempting a power play- a coup perhaps. She'd started a bit of trouble the day before and was trying to call in the ranks to get her out of it. Leaving 25 students, especially these particular 25 students, to their own devices while I tried to check my schedule and arrange a meeting would have been deadly. No, no response. Our time was too powerful and luckily, in my classroom, I still get to be queen.
The assistant left unhappily, formulating some response about a phone call later- which would have been the very appropriate first response taken by the parent. And I was left to chuckle over my first air mail delivery---by hand.
