Drama at KEFRAMA

Now that you are all familiar with KEFRAMA (support the well!), I figured I should fill you in on some of the juicy office gossip.

 Recently a student asked to borrow a phone under the guise of calling her parents about a new medicine she was taking.  In fact, she was about to attempt a risky con.

She told her mother that Joseph Kony and his rebel army had returned from hiding and were raiding villages and schools in the areas surrounding Lira.  Scandalous! 

The girl asked for money so she could return home, but more likely she probably intended to spend on…well actually, food.  These are underprivileged African kids after all.

Her mom, far away in the eastern part of the country, not surprisingly freaked out and called what I can only assume is her entire phonebook.  With Kony being such a recent and painful figure, the rumor spread quickly throughout KEFRAMA.  Soon other students were worried about abduction.  Rumors spiraled out of control.

Once the teachers identified the instigator, they hauled her into the staff office for discipline.  At KEFRAMA, we all share one small office that’s about 12 feet long and 5 feet wide.  With everyone piling in, that left me trapped at my desk against the back wall - AKA with front row seats.  Popcorn, please?

Chilling in the staff office

The girl was verbally rebuked and questioned at length.  Why would you say that?  Why would the rebels bypass all the other towns to our north and come right to KEFRAMA?  Why would you worry your parents and the other students like this?  Do you not realize you could be arrested for spreading false information about Kony?  

The girl…didn’t give even one shit-iota.  She stood the entire time staring blankly out the door, murmuring grunts in response to questions and generally blowing it all off.  When asked what she planned to do with the money, she replied “keep it.”  Note:  children are assholes all over the world.

She was sent away so they could discuss an appropriate punishment.  In the meantime, we had to get a handle on the rumors.  One by one the students were called into the office and asked if they had heard the gossip, called their parents or knew of anyone who had.   Living by the incontrovertible code of the playground, no one said a word.  Student solidarity.

Just a few short days later, I found myself held hostage by yet another disciplinary show – this time with a teacher.

At mid-term reviews children are asked to give feedback on the classes and the teachers.  One teacher in particular had received poor reviews, with accusations of providing inadequate notes and being too strict a disciplinarian.  There was even one report that he had shown up drunk to class – something headmistress Milly adamantly dismissed as fallacy (and I have not witnessed to date). 

So there I am, quietly writing fundraising proposals like a boss, when all of a sudden I find myself an unprepared pseudo-participant in a disciplinary hearing.  Hooray…

To her credit, Milly was more positive than critical.  She spoke to him about how important it was to set an example for these students, particularly given their backgrounds.  That it is their job not just to teach these children, but to fill them with positivity, support and encouragement. 

However, the awkwardness of sitting two feet from him during this process was paralyzing.  At home this is a private matter and I felt both intrusive and ineffective.

And the drama continues!  The following week, hard at work in the office, we suddenly heard a loud thudding sound.  After we desperately scanned the room for the rat we assumed had fallen from the ceiling, we noticed a gaggle of students in front of the door.  Curious as to why they were not in class, we went to check it out.

There we found a scene straight out of the 1960s.  Students were assembled in a large circle, with others laying in the middle.  Classmates were taking turns swatting each other with a small stick.  Horrified, I searched out Milly for an explanation.  She told me the majority of the class had been caught skipping and as punishment each child was to both receive and then administer three whacks.

Now, I am not much of a child person.  I will confess to wishing I could smack a kid at least once in my life….ahem in the last week.  And the fear of retribution meant the kids were hitting like pansies.  But still, something about this shocked me.  I couldn’t help but flinch every time I heard it. 

The children on the other hand…were laughing like maniacs.  Again…kids are assholes.