Afghan School with Carol Beckley
“Carol School! Carol School!” called several voices in early November from the 2nd story window as I approached apartment building 3B, carrying my cardboard box filled with school supplies. Even though I knew they’d spotted me, I rang their bell out of respect. I could hear scurrying bare feet and rustling papers as I mounted the stairs. By the time I’d removed my shoes and peered through their front door, 10 of the 11 children, aged 12 months to 16 years old, were seated on the floor, table tents bearing their names set up, folders, papers, pencils and crayons scattered in front of each child as they welcomed me with “Salaam!” and huge smiles in expectation of today’s lessons in English. The girls were dressed in traditional Afghan clothing including a hijab, completely covering their hair. The boys wore sweat pants and shirts. The two year old, Beroj, had squeezed his kneeling body between 2 older siblings as if he, too, were prepared to read today. Zhala, the youngest of all, toddled around her siblings sucking on a dry erase cap and wearing a long brown hijab for the very first time.
Papa M was seated on the sofa, his notebook resting in his lap, so he’d be able to learn while managing the behaviors of his children. I could hear Mama G bustling in the kitchen, and I hoped she would soon join us for some learning.
Tabana, 9 years old, volunteered to lead the alphabet letter/sounds chart. “A, Apple, aa (short a sound),” the children eagerly called out. “B, bat, Buh. C, Cat, Kuh. D, Dog, duh.” It was going so well until we got to the letter i. “I, Monkey. ih,” There’s a picture of a monkey scratching himself which is supposed to indicate “itch!” But every time they still clearly say, “Monkey!”
After the chart work, we moved on to 3 and 4 letter CVC short vowel words like cat, dog, hit, pot, ship, chick, sock. We sounded out each letter moving left to right, and formed the full words. We made sentences using the words. “The man hit the duck with a rock.” We acted out what the words meant. Co-tutor Becky pretended to throw a rock at co-tutor Martha, the duck. Martha, quacking in pain, rolled over injured. The kids wrote the sentences and reread them. When I asked them to draw a picture of what the sentence meant, they refused. It appeared most of them had no idea how to draw pictures and, like preschoolers, didn’t feel comfortable trying.
We often have to remind ourselves that until now, these children and their parents had never been to school. They had never held a pencil. They did not know colors. They could not count. They could not write anything in any language. Only the father had learned to read, write, and speak the Pashto language while in the army. The rest of the family understands and speaks only the unwritten dialect Pashayi which is very different from Pashto. Until this moment, Mama G had been told her entire life that as a female, her brain was incapable of learning anything other than how to care for her family’s physical and emotional needs. The first time I gave her a pencil to write the letter “a”, she nervously threw it onto the floor and then hit her head with her fists. After several weeks of intense practice, she wrote her name for the first time. The sight of her successfully written name in purple marker on a white board brought me to tears. And how proud she looked!
On some days, in order to explain something to the family, I would first say it in English to our interpreter, Fatima, who would then translate it in Pashto to Papa, who would then say it in the family’s native language Pashayi. As you can see, translation for our Afghans is a multi-step process.
Following our language part of the class, we sang the kids’ favorite song, “Head, shoulders, knees and toes,” starting out slowly and deliberately touching each named part of the body and ending the final verse at a dizzying speed, every child bursting into laughter and applause.
As our math segment was just beginning, Mama G, obviously pregnant again, had found a seat against a wall, breastfeeding tiny Zhala in her hijab. As coteacher Jackie began to introduce the concept of a number line, I glanced out the front window and noticed 2 year old Beroj had escaped and was running barefoot up the middle of the road. I screamed, alerting everyone of the danger. 11 year old Amu jumped up, ran down the stairs, onto the street and up the hill, scooping up his little brother and hoisting him onto his shoulders. As he returned Beroj to the safety of their apartment, we all cheered, “Amu is the hero of the day!”
One raucous round of singing “Hokey Pokey,” reminding them of left, right and body parts, and our 90 minute class ended. 90 minutes filled with moments of confusion, exhilaration, struggles, laughter, tears, frustration, determination, success. Baby steps upon baby steps are snowballing into monumental leaps in learning into their new life in America. What a joy it is for this retired teacher as part of a support team to share in our Afghan friends’ exciting learning experiences, building words and relationships together!
Note: Salam Alaikum! (Peace be upon you!)
All Afghan names have been changed, but the story is true, and more stories are evolving every day with our 5 Afghan families and a host of tutors and volunteers.
-Carol Beckley
