stories, from africa: Ecole Eco-Poincon

Spring break wasn't much of a break. Between moving and my grad classes, there wasn't really time for rest. We did take a day, however, to go and visit a school I'd read about in this article from France24.

I was intrigued by such progressive measures happening right here in the capital. Blind and sighted children studying together. And a blind teacher on top of it all. This completely inspiring story seemed to be perfect for finding a way to help our students engage in the community and learn something as well.

So, my field trip partner and I took a ride out to the school. Although it is said to be in Bamako, the journey took about an hour. Much of it was on a fairly decent main road and even after we turned onto the dirt road, it was still in pretty good condition.

Typical Malian landscape stretched out before us, dry, hot, dusty. Bushes and small trees dotted the fields, a structured village sprang up at one point which had us navigating a small dirt road with high mud walls on either side. That was the most interesting thing to see, along with a refreshing mango tree providing a bit of shade and a community hang out.

Into the Malian bush

However, most of the land was sprinkled with little cement buildings. One room, mostly finished but not complete. We guessed they were placed by landowners to secure their claim to the spot. I was struck by the emptiness of everything. I wondered how people got even the most basic of supplies. While we did see a few quincailleries, the hardware shops catering to all the construction workers in the area, there was't even one boutique or small items store. I also didn't see many motorcycles, which would have reduced to trip to the main road to about 10 or 15 minutes.

These empty stalls were scattered across the fields

Eventually we turned off behind one of the half finished houses and parked the cars. The school was a small building, just two classrooms and it looked lonely, the only painted building in the middle of a field of concrete shells.

We visited the first class and were met by a cheerful teaching team. The main teacher, a blind woman, and her sighted teaching assistant we warm and welcoming. The children waited patiently while Mr. Diakite explained how the school worked and showed us the materials he'd brought back from France for use in the instruction of the blind children. One of the girls wrote something for us using a pointed stylus and a frame that held the paper. Another child shared his grid with raised braille number tiles.

A cheerful teaching team

A sighted student went to the board to demonstrate his math lesson. The students had been working on math problems and he was solving 8+8. He did this by coming up and making tally marks, creating eight lines on each side of the plus sign. Then he went back and counted all the lines. Part of me was wondering why or when they might teach the tally system, or if they taught counting by groups or other strategies for determining the answer.

The little boy in front seems tired of the interruption

But another part of me was observing this boy, counting out his lines, while the rest of the class repeated everything he said. I've seen and heard this countless times in African schools, and even some not so African classrooms. The choral response. I hadn't given much thought to it before but in this moment, the sense of community was striking. I was thinking about how difficult it might be for some children to come up to the board and put their answer there, and I wondered for a minute if the call and response would be intimidating for a shy child. But just after that thought, I saw the power of having your peers support you in this way. I had new eyes then, seeing this choral response as an enfolding and community encircling. Just another small action that leads to the strong sense of connection to others and a little less to the individualism of America.

I wonder how it would have played out if he'd been wrong, or if he'd counted wrong. Would the group still repeat him? Would someone offer the correct answer? Or would it be up to the teacher to make the correction?

I didn't have time to interrogate about teaching methods. We visited the next classroom for only a few seconds, no demonstrations. This was the older class, with less students and a more serious teaching team.

After those introductions, Mr. Diakite took us over to view the dormitories. Its a big word used to describe the bedrooms available in another shell of a house. There are three bedrooms, one for teachers, one for girls and one for the boys. The teachers room had two beds with frames and mosquito nets. The girls room had only mattresses on the floor, while the boys room hosted a set of bunk beds and another bed on a frame. Mr. Diakite had been able to have the bunk beds made after a recent trip to France where he'd been given the funds in a donation.

Donations are far from the main source of the school. Diakite offers half of his salary as a government minister to pay for the teachers and the caretakers of the blind children who stay on during the week. He provides food for the children and the family of the woman who watches over them. On the weekends, the teachers and students go home to visit their families. For those whose families are too far away, Diakite opens his own home and hosts them for the weekends.

It was nothing short of remarkable to hear this man talking about the things he is committed to doing for the blind children of Mali. He says he has 10 more blind students who want to enroll next school year, but surely there will reach a limit to his ability to afford it all out of pocket.

I am hoping we will be able t0 establish some kind of kinship between our schools so that can serve as a resource at times. It would be great to be able to get the students together to create art and possibly auction it off. Or even just getting together to create is a likely benefit.

But in the end, it takes funding to do good work. I am hoping that the word will get out about Youssouf Diakite and his progressive school for blind and sighted children. I regret not being here in Bamako longer to try and make some thing incredible things happen.