Sometimes I want to hold Africa in my lap, like a mother comforting a child with an owie.. “Come here, baby, let me soothe away those scrapes and wounds, the warring, the hunger, the desperation. I’ll just blow on it and make the hurt go away.” It’s been a journey of idealistic faith to a cynical compassion to a humble acceptance that my efforts are miniscule in the breadth of the world. My path weaves in and out of each stage rather frequently, sometimes simultaneously and at times I throw much hands up in relinquishment of all control of the influence I might have. That’s when Africa literally just falls into my lap—whether I like it or not.
A few weeks ago, I arrived at the bus stop just in time to catch the last bus to Chimoio from Beira for the day. I sighed a breath of relief since I knew that Joseph would be waiting on the other end. After being apart for 9 months, you’d think 3 days wouldn’t be that big of a deal—it is. The seat I was allotted was right next to the door of the bus, rickety with a seat back that had a 140 degree angle, but that’s alright, “I’ll just hunch forward and read my book.” Ha, that’s what I thought until the bus’s engines started to roar and seven extra people squeezed into the “standing” space left between my seat and the door to the bus, approximately one meter square. Smashed like sardines, clutching their bags, these men towered over me—invading the right to my Western-birthed personal space, the right to sit forward or to move my leg or to twitch my elbow. Their bags rested on my lap, they leaned into me more with each minute of the tiring two-hour bus ride, and their feet shuffled their way into my legroom. Confident with my Portuguese and knowledge of the culture, I would have gladly articulated the frank injustice of my situation, but I didn’t need to—the 17 people seated behind me raised their voices on my behalf. They even called the police and the bus was stopped and charged a fine for being overloaded. I got a $2 discount on my $5 ticket, and I even got a good deal of my book read.
I noticed, on that bus ride, the quote on the back of my text book (Pathways to Play, by Heidemann and Hewitt).
“ Being able to think imaginatively, resolve conflicts with grace, trade ideas with others and feel compassion are the building blocks of human relationships. As you read this book you may wonder with us how different some adults’ lives would be if they had learned these skills as children.”
Last week, in a conversation with my future brother-in-law, a high-ranking employee at Zimbabwe Electric Company, he showed a fair amount of disbelief that there even exists the possibility of getting a master’s degree in early childhood education. It was not the first time in my life that I have been questioned as to why I choose to work with young children. Why I think that it is an effective way to “change the world.” But, it seems clear, and clearer each day as I learn more about child development and all its aspects, that having positive, quality relationships, plenty of time to play, and adults who care about their continuing development and know how to intervene appropriately could change a generation’s future.
I’ve had a bit of a paradigm shift in thinking about play. I previously thought that it was really important to just let kids play freely. And it is important, but I was hestitant to intervene very much. I was always puzzled though, because children here in Mozambique, especially in the rural areas have LOTS of time to play on their own. And it’s great and they’re creative and engaged and it’s beautiful. But it seems like they all sort of get to a certain point in their creativity and then stop. It seems that conflicts often end in hitting and shouting matches. It seems like their play rarely enters into a deeper imaginatory level. Yes, these are broad generalizations. Perhaps some day I’ll be equipped and better disciplined to actually do research on this sort of thing.
The shift in my thinking about play and child development is that while children need time to play—including time without any adult around bugging them—in order for them to reach the next step in their development, they need an “expert” to model, to challenge, to question, to encourage them. Sometimes the “expert” is an older child—which I think is what happens here a lot. But an older child can only develop so far without intervention as well. Thanks to Lev Vygotsky (a Russion philospher/psychologist), I’m beginning to see why it is so vitally important for adults to be involved in children’s lives. Why would we not learn all we can about how children need to grow and learn in their first 5-8 years of life and do all we can to give them the best start possible?
My friends, Africa has children and they need us.
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