A long time ago, in another place and another time, a friend spoke to me about giving. "They don't even ask," he said. It was a program that was offering food- some kind of breakfast- for people. If you know me, you know I've forgotten the details, the context, the citations. But I remember the big idea. The program was offering bread. And the people, despite being known for eating bread, wanted something healthier. But no one asked and they just assumed bread was the thing- forgetting that people are often faced with hard decisions, decisions made not from choice but from necessity. Given a choice, they didn't want bread.
What I took away from that conversation is that, in the act of giving, to be truly useful, you need to consult the people you are giving to. It sounds like elementary advice. But it is a step often ignored in the vain of....'we know what you need/want.' Or perhaps 'this is what I want you to want.'
Despite my lesson, I find I am facing the truth of the matter once again. In the blah of Abidjan that I am confronted with, and following my nature of wanting to do more than just me, there was the case of Melissa. Remember her? Girl child on her way to education? Because I believe in education. Because I am a teacher. Because everything I read tells me literacy is the path to improving not just one generation, but a future generation.
We've gone through a few tutors for Melissa. The first found us a second who eventually said he couldn't continue. "She doesn't respect me," he said. But I think the real cause was rather, she doesn't have a strong command of the French language. She has no base in reading and too often the questions posed were simply not understood. He took her silence as disrespect, or maybe it was just an excuse to say he couldn't handle the task.
In any case, I sought out a real teacher. Someone who knew what we were up against. Someone who could begin at the beginning. Someone who'd instructed my own child. But Melissa didn't come. She hung out after school playing with friends. I imagine her in the very throes of childhood. Her 12 year old body delighting in the socialization and carefree ways of a much younger child. When she showed up late for the session, for the third time in a row, I asked her what time school ended. She put a finger to her lip and tilted her head.
It was clear she'd either lost track of time in her joy of playing or she'd deliberately passed her study hour with friends. The professor had long since gone home. He'd had requests from other families that wanted his time. Families where kids showed up on time. Took their studies seriously.
"La mama ne pas interesse," he told me as we waited. It's not possible to impress the importance of education on a child whose parent does not reinforce it. I felt a gnawing at my gut. I knew he was right. I can offer, but I cannot force. I can value, but I cannot impose.
In the end, we had no choice but to discontinue. The mom is too focused on having help with household chores. She herself is not literate. She tells me, "If it doesn't 'stick' this year, then she won't continue."
It's not about sticking. I know the girl is sitting through hours of hours of class in a language she barely understands. How can it 'stick?' She's bored, confused and lost in her daydream world. She needs focused study, one on one that addresses her specific needs. I know this. I believe in this.
But mom wants someone to help with the baby, to help with cooking, to help with the washing. She's looking at today and I am looking at tomorrow.
There is a narrow part of me that doubts my intention. Where is she going anyway? Won't knowing more just make her aware of what she can't have? Isn't ignorance bliss and the reality is education doesn't always lead to a job, especially in Africa. A stubborn part of me resists.
In the end, it doesn't matter what I want or think or value. She is not my child. She will learn what is important from her mother. I am a little crushed. I am wracked with guilt. Isn't there more I could do/should have done?
This evening, her mother approaches me with a request. She says she's bought some land and wants an advance to start construction. I don't know what to say.
I'd been planning to let her go in the new year. I'm tired of the halfway job, the house full of kids, the chaos, the lies and the taking advantage. But in her words I hear the echo of truth. She was raised with a farming mother. Farming is what she knows. If I wanted to help, maybe I should have asked. It seems like the brilliant solution I forgot to consider.
Except she wants the advance for sand and cement and building. I am not sure I believe her. She is skilled in the art of knowing what she knows when it's convenient and not knowing when it serves it her best.
I'm not sure how to go forward, wracked with guilt and indecision. I have needs too. A job is a job. My priorities for my child take precedence. My priorities for myself...right? But I get all confused at certain moments. I wish it was more, I wish it was less. It's all the problem with giving. Finding the balance between what you need and what you can offer.
