I spent the summer of 2007 teaching at Wikondiek Primary and Secondary School in rural Western Kenya. As this was not my first time in Africa, I was able to see to an even greater extent some of the difficulties with constructing a Western-based “meaning” out of the experience, and this led me to do some serious questioning and reflecting on the ways in which our interactions with Africa are based on an inherent unequal dynamic that affects how we from the West evaluate and benefit from our experiences there, sometimes – I would dare to say usually – at the expense of the communities we are claiming to assist.
Just to give a bit of background on the circumstances that I and my students and colleagues were in, Wikondiek is a poor village with a significantly high HIV rate and a high number of orphans. None of my students had both parents living; a few had a mother or father present, but the vast majority lived either with relatives or on their own, often at the age of 15 or 16 and caring for younger siblings. Most of the students are supported financially either by Western sponsors or wealthier Kenyans. This experience in Africa was quite different from my first, in that I was not alone travelling, but living in a community and working within a professional framework at the school. When this is the case, as with an overseas teaching job or internship or volunteer program, there are a set of expectations on behalf of the teacher as well as the institution sending them overseas. This was quite evident in the type of responses and comments I received about my internship in Kenya. Any time I’ve been in Africa, the number one question is “What did you do there?” (“What did you eat there?” follows at a close second). Once I say I was teaching, I am told a) what a magnificent human being I am; b) how much good I am doing in the world or c) how I should be proud of changing peoples’ lives for the better. Now, I am a person who cannot accept unfounded flattery, and these accolades are all, unfortunately for me, unfounded. They do, however, show very clearly the different mindset from which the West approaches interactions with Africa: one of a helper-helpee dynamic. My friends and colleagues who have taught in Australia or Japan or England have never had their work gilded with such significance; – there is more of an equal exchange assumed from such a placement. In the case of Africa, however, expectations seem to be grounded in a benevolence that is at best somewhat misguided but well-intentioned, and at worst, paternalistic and presumptuous.
It was my frustration with this mindset that prompted me to delve deeper into these issues. This unequal cultural dynamic tends to influence one’s expectations and evaluation of a professional experience in Africa in such a way that all is assessed on Western terms, which I did not want to do. I thus examined some key aspects with this in mind: the competence and skills that one is expected to hone in Africa and from whose perspective these are acceptable, whether such outcomes are desirable or even always possible, and lastly, how what is learned in Africa, regardless of whether it is the outcome one was expecting, can be incorporated into teaching across boundaries in order to give back to both one’s home and one’s host community.
Expectations and Evaluations
First, when organizations send individuals from the West to Africa, there is certainly something that the traveller is expected to gain from the journey. I know many people who completed two-year teaching placements with CUSO (Canadian University Services Overseas) or did volunteer teaching with NGOs (Non-Governmental Organizations), and these seem to be experiences held in great esteem. I have been told countless times how my internship in Kenya is a fantastic experience to put on a resume and that it will be of great help in getting a teaching position in Canada – but I wanted to look deeper and discover why that would be the case. What does teaching in Africa give me, as a Westerner? There are of course hard skills that one would associate with this: making do with very little material and resources, being inventive, dealing with rough living and working conditions. This forces one to be highly adaptive, creative, hard-working, etc., but this kind of evaluation has an underlying Western bias in that it assumes a quantifiable, measurable outcome that can be packaged and sold. However, value and merit are not matters pertaining to the individual in Africa – whatever you do is not for you, and the fruits of actions belong both to the giver and the receiver: meaning is constructed communally. This is a very difficult notion for a Westerner, and one that often leads to a sense of failure or of not meeting expectations.
In Wikondiek, I recall being very disheartened at the results of my students’ final exams. The majority failed miserably, despite my long hours of reviewing topics and making myself constantly available outside of class time. I felt I was useless – my students failed despite my having most of the hard skills I mentioned earlier. However, outside of class I had taught a group of about 50 students to perform Ghanaian and Beninese song and dance, a performance which allowed us to go up to the provincial music competition; and I also shared Nigerian call and response poetry that spoke about the realities of post-colonial Africa. These things were not in the curriculum, but these are what I was thanked for. What the community valued was seeing a white person, someone from whom they normally feel a great distance and a sense of inferiority, interested in music from their continent, speaking about issues that mattered to them, learning their language in a way that was open and genuine. Only one person, in fact, ever commented on my teaching itself; all, however, mentioned in some way or another the spirit with which I taught. Evaluating such an experience in terms of skills acquired can not only make one feel they are not measuring up, but it can also be rather pretentious in that it implies one reality being more valid than another. If anything, when one is a guest in a country, it should be the host’s interpretation that carries the most weight. Being able to see one’s value from the perspective of one’s students and community can be a humbling and important step in realizing one’s own bias, and this awareness can be helpful in redefining the expectations and outcomes of an experience in a more balanced and fair way for both sides.
Re-evaluating self in relation to Africa: The danger of assumptions
Another difficulty stemming from teaching or doing other work in Africa is far more deeply rooted than the simple professional evaluation of one’s experience. The reconstruction of identity that occurs when one is confronted with what being Western represents in most areas of the world is an intense and sometimes disturbing process, but one that is often expected to bring about a new sense of cultural understanding, a newfound sensitivity that is the fruit of living “on par” with one’s African colleagues. Often the intensity of being a very visible and often not-so-discreetly resented minority leads a Westerner in Africa to develop a sort of reverse ethnocentrism as a coping mechanism, distancing oneself from the oppressor which one represents by siding with and extolling the virtues of the oppressed. This is frequently noticed in returned volunteers who have spent long periods in Africa – in the Peace Corps, for example. I certainly had my own experience with this: Returning from my first trip to Benin, the leftover Christmas displays stacked with excess food and material things brought me to tears. How could I justify being born into this, without having done anything to deserve it? I also caught myself falling into this pattern while in Kenya, especially since even my colleague from York was African. This can also lead to an overwhelming sense of responsibility, of wanting to help, of wanting to make some sort of tangible difference – all of which are highly encouraged and praised sentiments in the West. How often is it drilled into us that, given our privileged positions in the world, it is unthinkable not to do something about injustice and poverty?
This at first glance might seem like development and “intercultural sensitivity,” but is it really? Can a Westerner teaching in Africa for 3 months, 6 months, even 3 years, truly claim to comprehend the issues at hand in the way that we would often like to think we can? Upon deeper analysis, perhaps there is a sense of presumptuousness in assuming such a complete understanding of Africa, of the South, of the Other in general. After all, is it truly possible to understand such a reality when one is experiencing it from a privileged vantage point? I saw extreme poverty and illness in Wikondiek, and several people died of tuberculosis and malaria during my stay. Many would say that I have, as a result, a newfound “understanding” of such issues, especially since I became very ill myself. But on what level can I or any other foreigner truly claim to understand these things? In reality, my experience was through a veil: I was watching from behind the safety net of a return plane ticket, malaria pills and health insurance. Yet, such an experience is highly lauded and in fact quite profitable in the West, and host communities in Africa are completely aware of this. A rather aggressive bus driver in Kenya bluntly asked me if I was going to go back to Canada and do what every other foreign teacher or volunteer does: show pictures of myself “integrating” with poor black children and use it for my own benefit. I have never forgotten this, and I think this man’s comment is worthy of being mentioned for the stark truth that it expresses. Perhaps “intercultural understanding” and other such soft skills one is expected to obtain in Africa can, if one is not careful, turn into a kind of a superiority complex that is wholly undeserved. Perhaps intercultural humility is a better thing to strive for: the willingness to admit how much one in fact does not know. I can personally say that I actually know far less for certain than before I left – and I think that this is actually quite positive, though not always seen as such from a Western perspective.
Implications for teaching in a diverse classroom
None of this is, however, to say that Africa should be abandoned entirely as a teaching destination for Westerners because of the approach we take towards the continent; on the contrary, continuing relations are necessary so that we can learn how to take Africa’s perspective on our actions there into account and create a more equal dynamic. This is not only relevant in the case of Africa itself, but also in terms of the Diaspora population in an ethnically diverse classroom – an issue that is quite relevant today as we are assessing the benefits of an Africentric curriculum and school. The problems I have just enumerated are in many ways equally valid in the case of our school system in Toronto, and experiences in Africa can in fact be of immense benefit if used in a way that emphasizes the need for a different relationship with this part of the world and the role that everyone, students included, has to play in establishing such a dynamic. Adapting one’s teaching strategies and one’s definition of “good” teaching to suit one’s students is not just helpful and necessary in Africa, but perhaps equally so in the case of students of African heritage. Having been exposed to collectivist environments, a teacher is better prepared to be tolerant towards different ways of viewing life and education depending on one’s heritage, and could be more likely to think outside the constructs of his or her own perspective in a more mutually respectful teacher-student relationship. The humility that can come from realizing one’s own limitations both in saving the world and in understanding it could also be helpful in this respect: one is far less likely to assume anything, to assess a student’s situation or problems by claiming to comprehend the other side. This is not defeatist or changing the power distribution in the classroom; it is validating the reality of one’s students and thus creating a level of trust and openness.
Experiences in Africa can also be brought into the classroom in a way that defies the traditional showing of pictures and saying how much one “got out of” the journey: this only reinforces the basis of the unequal exchange that exists currently. Personally, I have attempted to show my students in Wikondiek the way they wanted themselves to be represented to the West, which is something I asked them before I left. I include their own words whenever I present to students in Toronto, and I refuse to speak on behalf of the community. This has always stirred a great deal of interest in the students I am speaking to: interest in the students of Wikondiek themselves, not of what I did there (nor, it must be noted, what I ate there). One class I spoke to asked if it would be possible to write to the students in Wikondiek so they could ask them questions themselves – and this I think is most indicative of the kind of change in mentality that is needed in the way the West engages with Africa. This makes Africa real, not a place whose wars and epidemics are seen on TV, and the fact that the students asked for this connection implies a willingness to engage in a receptive manner with Africa rather than an imposing one.
Overall I believe that if I have been able to make such observations, I am certainly not the only one who sees an unequal exchange in need of reconstruction in the West’s current dealings with Africa. Perhaps the analysis and discussion of such issues will be a first step in re-examining the way we see ourselves in relation to Africa, and seeing that it is often far more beneficial instead to see what value (or lack thereof, as the case may be) that Africa places on our contributions. It is my hope that my continued questioning inspires some others who have had similar experiences to do the same. By being willing to accept Africa and our experiences there not just on our terms but more so on Africa’s terms, we can perhaps come to a new dynamic that backs up a well-known Swahili proverb that I was told in the village: let the guest come so that the host may benefit.
Author's Information
Stacey Tsourounis is a 4th year student at York University studying French and English with plenty of African history, politics and dance on the side. She cannot stay away from Africa for more than a couple years at a time, and since starting at York has been to Benin, Kenya, Uganda and Rwanda. Upon finishing her degree in December, she will be heading to Ghana, Burkina Faso and Togo. She plans to incorporate lessons from her travels into a career as a high school teacher, and will be going to teacher’s college in 2009 (unless she never comes home).
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