Arabic Lessons

It finally happened! As fate, or God, or luck would have it, I had pretty much nothing to do with it. I don’t care, it’s still AWESOME!! 30 some odd women, adult women, are now taking Arabic lessons! They have committed to trying to reduce illiteracy in our little village by becoming literate themselves. For many, this means they are stepping into the classroom for the first time in their 50 some years of life. For others it means picking up the chalk and pencil after a much extended break.

The reasons women in my village stop going to school are many. These days, it’s mostly because they have finished all the schooling that is readily available for them. Most families are not comfortable sending their pubescent and pre-pubescent daughters away to school, so once they finish the 6th form, they are done, for good. Those who really care about and are lucky enough to have family somewhere where the girls can safely stay while they study may choose to allow their daughters to continue. However, many don’t have that option. A few families still choose to pull their daughters even earlier. They may need help around the house, or help running the semi-nomadic tents out in the grazing grounds. This is still a vast improvement over days not so very long gone by. It used to be a family would choose maybe one or two kids out of the 6-10 they had to go to school at all. My tutor was one of the only children his parents sent to school. He has shared his literacy with both his younger sister and his wife. He is also a school-teacher here, passing on the gift to some hundreds of kids.

Last week, after months of suspense, the women’s literacy classes started. They started with the generosity of an association from Boulmane, a nearby city. The local preschool teacher got in contact with them (on her own!!!!), and then beat the dirt paths (on her own, between the classes she already teaches!!!!!!!) gathering women’s names and ID numbers so the association in Boulmane could be confident of interest levels. This association then called in the regional Ministry of Agriculture, and together they put up some money. I watched as they handed out the goods so the women could get started. Slates, chalk, pens, pencils and THREE books for each woman! Level 1, Level 2 and an educational reader about agriculture and agricultural science. It was so much fun to see them take the books, and then to come to their first class two days later… bright, excited eyes. Books carried carefully. The odd baby strapped to a back, while it’s mother shifted endlessly from foot to foot to calm it, pen in hand ready to learn. Shy and a bit self-conscious, they didn’t know what to do when the teacher wrote the first letter of the Arabic alphabet on the board. “Aleef! Ah!” she said and turned around to awkward silence. “What… do we… do?” muttered one voice, and the entire room burst into laughter. She hastened to explain, and off they went (like a herd of turtles…). I learned a bit myself, but soon found that I could be of more help guiding hands unused to writing into the proper way to make a circle with a tail on it (“Wa-oh! Oww!).

Just a couple days ago I dropped in on a family that I like to hang out with. They are very, very kind, insisting that I am like another daughter to them, and point blank refusing to let me leave the house without some form of sustenance either in my hands or my belly. Friendly, full of laughter, and out-spoken; they are a good antidote to the unfamiliar families who are still quiet and modest around me. The mother of the family is one of the women studying Arabic for the first time. She was one who had a very difficult time forming the letters that first day. I hadn’t been back for a while, but while we sat by the fire warming our hands, she said “Wait!” jumped up and disappeared. She returned with a sheet of paper completely covered with the number 8 drawn over and over and over and over and over… You could see on it the progression of 8’s. They started out huge, lop-sided, scratchy and barely recognizable. They ended neat, small and quite clearly “8”! She was so proud of herself, yet still self-effacing. She started working on the number 9 while I was sitting there, and her 10-year-old son watched her, giving helpful criticism respectfully and proudly. He too, is happy to see his mother studying. This is one family where the older children have gone on to high school if they wanted, girls and boys. Now, finally, their mother is joining them in the ranks of the educated. I am so happy for them I could shine!