ILBORU SECONDARY SCHOOL

EPILOGUE

The news from Tanzania that Wayne and Sindy related to me during their mid-January visit to the Northwest was better than I had expected. Government schools made it through the term, although some, like Ilboru, closed two weeks early for the holidays. Private schools did at least as well, but many had reduced enrollments due to increased fees. The riot at Ilboru has been largely forgotten, and the report of a British investigating team, brought in by the government to determine the cause of the fire that claimed over forty lives at a private girls’ school, was simply squelched. For a time Ilboru students guarded its chapel against possible attack from Islamic extremists, but nothing has happened there or elsewhere in the country. And the first multiparty elections in the nation’s history are still expected to occur later in the year, although the government has so far announced no details.

A very nice note, addressed “Dear Father Prof. Vance Johnson” arrived a month or two ago from my Ilboru teacher friend, Makonge, now headmaster at Daudi Secondary School in Mbulu, just south of Karatu, home of Gibb’s Farm, which I have not seen in ever so long. He thanks me for the books on tourism in East Africa that I left to assist him to prepare for a possible career as a professional guide, at which he would be very good. He has not used them yet, because “I’m really busy as I’m required to equip the school in general.” The school is quite new, and I would very much enjoy accepting his invitation to visit. After mentioning how well “my” Ilboru students did on their national examinations, he comments further on that school: “Mr. Kimaro has a scholarship to Virginia, USA, and has already left. He is not sponsored by the Ministry, but by private people. The school is gradually losing her potential.” He asks about the possibility of coming to this country for a master’s degree in any of several fields, in all of which I know from experience that he excels, and concludes with the wish, “May God grant peace and long life to you,” a prayer that I think has already been answered.

Richard, my headwaiter friend from the Norfolk, wrote about his work, his plans to spend a two-week vacation in his home region, and the progress of his infant son. He also brought up his wish to leave the tourism industry and open his own exercise gym, “a booming industry,” he told me during one of our chats in Nairobi. Of course he would like assistance in obtaining a loan–between six and eight thousand dollars is the figure he mentioned there–from outside the country. Meanwhile, Mmari, my beer-drinking teacher friend from Monduli, has applied to study in the US, and I was only too happy to submit a letter of strong recommendation on his behalf.

The latest news from Monduli, however, reached me only this past weekend during a phone call from Mary. Buster–in Tanzania that’s pronounced “Booster”–yes, “Booster” ate a rooster, and I hardly need tell you what a furor that caused; much more than just feathers hit the fan. Abbey, who was walking the beast, has allegedly totally disavowed any further interest in him, while Jane, his patron saint, stepped in to make financial restitution and to reopen a diplomatic dialog with the community. Those two now reside in the home of the district commissioner, which has a telephone, so you may verify all of this by calling Monduli 73 and waiting. Carol is still in Americastle, but whether living alone at last or still with fleas and bats, I failed to ascertain. The PCV there, a young man whose name I forget, resides in yet a third house, and Kristin made good her escape; she is still at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland. And Buster? Well, he’s still alive, but probably on leash and definitely in the doghouse.

Letters from several of my students reached Seattle even before I did, and these were soon followed by a few more. Their main theme, not surprisingly, was a request for assistance to attend university. In general these letters began with some expression of thanks, continued with a statement of how hard they had worked–”too tough” is a commonly used phrase to describe anything unexpectedly difficult or demanding–and ended with a request for money or sponsorship. Yahya thanked me for my “heavy support,” particularly since what I had taught them, as he put it, had “come out during the exam.” He then became a bit more enthusiastic: “Thanks God, thanks Prof Vance. (I’m sorry for putting you second, I forgot you have no religion.)” He blamed the government’s postponement of the one year of national service required between secondary school and university on the International Monetary Fund, went on to describe his meager circumstances, and then suggested that “inside the letter you put a little,” which he later quantified to “500 or 1000 American dollars.”

Genes was much more prosaic in his evaluation of my efforts: “You have been of much help to us. You made us understand how the world goes and how modern technology gallops every year and every hour.” He didn’t request help–we had talked in Ilboru of my inability to assist financially–but concluded, “I am still looking for an admission in any universities in Europe as once mentioned to you. I hope God will give push on this.” On the back of his letter is the question: “NB: What do you know about this Harris Corporation in the USA?”

Efrem, who gave me the two traditional cups, thanked me again for the student safari and added that he had “enjoyed a lot your teachings,” including “a number of techniques in attacking physics calculations, even maths.” He apologized for having been unable to invite me to visit his home near Kilimanjaro, requested assistance in obtaining sponsorship to a university, and asked for help in finding a pen pal.

Serafini is possibly the poorest, financially, of my students but the best in physics of the premedical group. I contributed most of his school fees, national examination costs, incidental and travel expenses, and enough more to buy a properly black pair of trousers, when the second master threatened to expel him because his were navy blue. His letter begins, “I really have to thank you for your contribution in my passing the physics subject. I got an A in the exam. Thanks sir.” His letter goes on to describe the difficulties of his finding money to finance university study, a matter we had previously discussed face to face on several occasions.

The request from his colleague in the premedical stream, Petro, who led the troop through its graduation-day parade, can be dismissed more light-heartedly. He certainly didn’t spend much time studying physics, and his manner of life and style of dress hinted at nontrivial family resources. In any event this young entrepreneur has decided that the place for him to study is the University of Southern California. All he wants me to do is pay his $50 application fee, obtain a social security number for him, and then raise the $27,500 annual tuition fee. After outlining all these procedures in considerable detail, he concludes: “I expect a lot from you Prof. Take this case serious. It will be one of your historic responsibilities.” Petro, you must be kidding. But are you?

Joseph, on the other hand, is very deserving. His exam scores were always among the three highest, so it is no surprise that he earned an A on the national physics exam. His B in math, although extremely good, suggests that the school’s math instruction was less effective than I thought. His C in chemistry, although a high mark–the Tanzanian equivalent of our “gentleman’s C” is the letter E, and they also do use D–was no surprise, since during most of the first year no chemistry instructor was assigned to the school, and during the second, the teacher, although seemingly very competent, was often away on a research project. These marks guarantee his admission to the University of Dar es Salaam, but, as we had discussed many times at Ilboru, he has no funds. He requests help in finding a sponsor or alternatively a job at which he can work for a year to save the needed money. His plea is sincere and ends with the plaintive, and for me quite painful statement: “It’s my hope that my cry will reach your favorable and considerable wisdom.”

The last letter was the best, and it arrived, appropriately, about Christmas. It was only a few weeks before national exam time when Stephen came to me with the lament that he had been unable to raise money to pay the remainder of his school fees and thus would not be allowed to graduate or take the national exams. Tears came to his eyes that afternoon when I slipped him an envelope with the necessary funds. “With grateful heart I write this letter to you,” he begins. After telling me how well he and the others did, he makes an astonishing claim: “You see every parent is now fighting to send his or her children to get their education at Ilboru Secondary School. Your contribution is unforgettable because everybody in science classes is sure of the wonders we did in physics.” He has found a job for the unexpected free year, which is most gratifying to me, has applied to the University of Dar es Salaam, where, in his words: “Now I’m sure to join the University for my first degree in computer science.” He concludes: “But, Sir, I could be happier if I can get a chance in your colleges in the USA. Can you help me in that, Sir?”

I’ll always wonder if the presence of Volunteers in Third-World schools is a good idea. It does seem clear that the American approach to education is much more effective than the British, at least as the latter is practiced in Tanzania. It was also true there that we could spend more time with students than could their regular teachers, who had to earn most of their income from other sources. What bothers me is that we may have raised their expectations for material success, as Americans increasingly emphasize and expect it, rather than their desire and potential to improve the quality of life in their own country. I’ll never know if my being there was a good thing for my students or not, but I’ll leave the letter, now laminated, that I received from the recently appointed headmaster at Ilboru, a man I’ve yet to meet, lying for a while on the glass coffee table in my living room. “We thought you might be interested to know the examination results of the Form Six class you taught Physics while you were at Ilboru,” it begins. He then tells me how many of the students got each of the seven possible grades. They are hard to evaluate unless you’ve experienced that kind of system, so let me summarize them this way: 67 received very respectable marks, the top four grades; two received a principal level pass; one a subsidiary pass; and none failed. Headmaster Masaki then concludes: “The School was overall Number One out of 96 A-level schools in the country. We congratulate you for the good work you did, reflected on the very good results obtained.”

To those delightful young men in Tanzania I can only say: Congratulations, well done, all best wishes for the future, and farewell. And to you my readers: Thanks for your correspondence and support, and all best wishes in this now not so New Year.

W. Vance Johnson

06 Feb 95