Hey everyone, Rivky here. Wanted to tell everyone about our cool day on Thursday, visiting Shai Hills Forest Reserve.
Yamit really wanted to do something, so even though Zahava and I are lazy shlubs who didn't mind staying in Accra, we agreed to do a one-day trip, and it actually ended up being awesome. We decided to go to Shai Hills Forest Reserve, which is this huge park about 50 km from Accra. As expected by the name, Shai Hills is a reserve for wildlife and animals. The guidebook and one of the blogs we read beforehand said that we should wear sneakers, but I figured, it's a walk around a preserve, why can't I wear flip flops? Bad call on my part, but I'll get to that later.
We left Legon at 7:15 AM, and 3 tro-tros later (to 37 bus station, to Ashaiman bus station, and then to Doryumu), we were left off at the side of the road right in front of the entrance to the reserve. (1) We paid 11 cedi each (2) for a two hour hike and then set off with our guard, Timothy.
About 10 minutes into our walk, Timothy spotted our first baboons. We walked towards the baboons and they walked towards us, and Timothy encouraged us to attempt to feed them, though he warned us they might reject our food. We gave them crackers straight out of our hands- it was awesome. They literally walked over, reached into my hand, took out the cracker, and ate it. So amazing. We fed monkeys a couple of weeks ago, which was also a cool experience (we held bananas out to them and they peeled and ate them), but baboons are considerably more humanlike- for example, they walk instead of swinging on branches. I wish I could have taken pictures, but a stolen camera make that more difficult.
After we left the baboons, we kept walking around the reserve. We walked up to a watering hole, at which antelope and other animals drink, but none were there at the time. As we walked, Timothy gave us a little history of the cave we were going to be visiting, which was where a tribe had lived in the late 1800s, when they were hiding out. (From the Ashanti? From the British? Both? It was slightly hard to community with Timothy, though he was a really sweet guy. We gave him a Cliff Bar, that's how much we liked him.)
Eventually, we started climbing. We figured it would just be a short climb and then we'd enter the cave on ground level, like caves in Israel or America I've been to. Instead, it was an entire ordeal to get there; it's not that the hike was the toughest thing in the world, but it was definitely more challenging than anything I've done in a while. We got to the cave after about an hour, and it was rocky and dark, and smelled slightly like bats. It seemed like a tough place to live for years, but Zahava was pretty sure she would have loved it. Most of the hike was climbing through dirt and rocks and branches, but then the last 10 minutes was basically climbing up rocks. By this point, my flip flops were useless; they had zero traction as it is, and my feet were so sweaty that I slipped out of one trying to get from one rock to another. Timothy advised me to take them off and do it barefoot, which was a scary but weirdly cool experience. (4)
When we got to the top, we sat on the peak for a while and looked around. Accra, the capitol city, is not beautiful; it's a loud, crowded city, with a lot of garbage and pollution. One would never call it scenic. And though I haven't traveled too extensively, it seems pretty clear that Ghana is not known for being a gorgeous country. That doesn't mean I don't like living here- Teaneck isn't the most gorgeous place either, but I like it a lot for other things. I like Accra a lot. But from the top of this peak in the forest reserve, it really was nice. Relatively dry, with random spurts of trees. There was one long chain of trees, with Timothy attributed to water running in that direction.
The climb down was slightly difficult, and then the walk back was nice. We saw baboons again, and watched them for a while when we got back to the entrance. (5) We took two tro-tros to get back to Legon, and even though I was nervous about time and getting back after dark, we were back before 4, and because the water has been running much more regularly (6), we were all able to shower. No joke, that might have been the best part of the day.
(1) We were there by 10:30, which is actually a surprisingly short commute, considering how bad traffic is here.
(2) About $7ish.
(3) In my defense, keep in mind that I live in Teaneck, NJ, and now spend my college years in Baltimore. Neither are exactly the most intense hiking areas in the world.
(4) If I ever do the rock-climbing wall in the Hopkins gym, I want to do it barefoot!
(5) We sat and relaxed for a while. We also washed our feet in a spigot. Luxurious, no joke!
(6) A whole saga in and of itself.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
obruni = money
Ghana works in extremes. If I could think better on my feet, I could give you a million examples of this, but this is the only story I can think of now.
Last Tuesday, Yamit, Rivky, and I were on our way back from Shoprite. We were waiting for a tro-tro for about 20 minutes, and we were getting antsy. A cab that already had three people was waiting for one more person. We decided to split up because it would probably be easier and quicker for us all to get back that way. Rivky had no money, so I pulled out my wallet, handed her 50 peswas (about 75 cents), and put my wallet back in my bag. As Rivky was getting into the cab, a random guy near us started yelling at Yamit, saying that Rivky shouldn’t get in. Then the cab driver started yelling at us not to trust this guy because he was a criminal. A second later, a nearly empty tro-tro pulls up. Rivky jumps out of the cab and says to us, “Let’s go. I’m not getting in the middle of this.” As the three of us try to squish onto the tro-tro, I look back at Rivky and say, “Keep an eye on my bag.” She kept her hand on it until we got inside. But it was too late. Before I said anything, the “criminal” had already taken my wallet. He had seen exactly where I put it back after I gave Rivky the 50 peswas, and he squished into the crowd as if he were trying to get onto the tro-tro. I noticed the second I got in, but there was nothing I could do. He was already gone. There was 20 cedis (about $30), my UGhana ID, my expired drivers license, my debit card, my credit card, pictures, a mincha/maariv booklet, and a few other insignificant things. I immediately called my mom, who immediately cancelled the cards.
I was really really upset. It wasn’t about the cash or the wallet or its contents. It was about being stolen from, specifically in Ghana. Almost all of the Americans on our program have already been stolen from, a blackberry, a laptop, a wallet, etc. It just leaves a sour taste towards Ghana. It associates Ghana with stealing. It just makes me feel more like it’s Ghana vs. the obrunis. No one is on our side. They don’t want us here. They’re all racist. They look at me, and they see money. I’m not a person; I’m a checkbook. I hate it. I can’t stand being referred to by my skin color, and I can’t stand being labeled.
(Side note: Rivky’s wallet was stolen out of her bag in the post office a few weeks before we went to Israel. She also called my mom right away, and the cards were cancelled. Luckily enough, my mom was able to send a new debit card with Rivky’s friend to Israel. For the few weeks in between, I would just take out money for the two of us and keep track of who was spending what. Now we’re going to do the same thing, but now with her money. When Rivky’s wallet was stolen, she also lost her UGhana ID, which we need for finals, which started today. We went last Monday to the registry, and they told us to come back Wednesday at 9am. That’s the only time they do IDs. It was the following day, Tuesday, that my wallet was stolen. Wednesday we both got new IDs, 10 cedis each.)
THEN! Just now, a girl on our program was sitting with us in our common room and was like, “Oh, Zahava, this is yours. A guy at the airport gave it to Bri,” (another girl on our program). She pulled out all the contents of my wallet, sans the wallet itself or the cash, and put it on the table. The truth is that nothing in the wallet is of any worth. I already got a new ID, the license is expired, and the rest is limitedly important.
This is the other extreme of Ghana. Yes, I am “Obruni” (“white person”). I am a walking checkbook to many. But to many it doesn’t matter. There is a genuine kindness to this culture. People walk us half an hour out of their way to make sure that we get somewhere safely. I am not surprised that somebody was walking around with the contents of my wallet, waiting to meet an obruni who knew a Zahava. It restores my faith in Ghana. It reminds me that for all the bad, there is so much good. There is so much sincerity.
Last Tuesday, Yamit, Rivky, and I were on our way back from Shoprite. We were waiting for a tro-tro for about 20 minutes, and we were getting antsy. A cab that already had three people was waiting for one more person. We decided to split up because it would probably be easier and quicker for us all to get back that way. Rivky had no money, so I pulled out my wallet, handed her 50 peswas (about 75 cents), and put my wallet back in my bag. As Rivky was getting into the cab, a random guy near us started yelling at Yamit, saying that Rivky shouldn’t get in. Then the cab driver started yelling at us not to trust this guy because he was a criminal. A second later, a nearly empty tro-tro pulls up. Rivky jumps out of the cab and says to us, “Let’s go. I’m not getting in the middle of this.” As the three of us try to squish onto the tro-tro, I look back at Rivky and say, “Keep an eye on my bag.” She kept her hand on it until we got inside. But it was too late. Before I said anything, the “criminal” had already taken my wallet. He had seen exactly where I put it back after I gave Rivky the 50 peswas, and he squished into the crowd as if he were trying to get onto the tro-tro. I noticed the second I got in, but there was nothing I could do. He was already gone. There was 20 cedis (about $30), my UGhana ID, my expired drivers license, my debit card, my credit card, pictures, a mincha/maariv booklet, and a few other insignificant things. I immediately called my mom, who immediately cancelled the cards.
I was really really upset. It wasn’t about the cash or the wallet or its contents. It was about being stolen from, specifically in Ghana. Almost all of the Americans on our program have already been stolen from, a blackberry, a laptop, a wallet, etc. It just leaves a sour taste towards Ghana. It associates Ghana with stealing. It just makes me feel more like it’s Ghana vs. the obrunis. No one is on our side. They don’t want us here. They’re all racist. They look at me, and they see money. I’m not a person; I’m a checkbook. I hate it. I can’t stand being referred to by my skin color, and I can’t stand being labeled.
(Side note: Rivky’s wallet was stolen out of her bag in the post office a few weeks before we went to Israel. She also called my mom right away, and the cards were cancelled. Luckily enough, my mom was able to send a new debit card with Rivky’s friend to Israel. For the few weeks in between, I would just take out money for the two of us and keep track of who was spending what. Now we’re going to do the same thing, but now with her money. When Rivky’s wallet was stolen, she also lost her UGhana ID, which we need for finals, which started today. We went last Monday to the registry, and they told us to come back Wednesday at 9am. That’s the only time they do IDs. It was the following day, Tuesday, that my wallet was stolen. Wednesday we both got new IDs, 10 cedis each.)
THEN! Just now, a girl on our program was sitting with us in our common room and was like, “Oh, Zahava, this is yours. A guy at the airport gave it to Bri,” (another girl on our program). She pulled out all the contents of my wallet, sans the wallet itself or the cash, and put it on the table. The truth is that nothing in the wallet is of any worth. I already got a new ID, the license is expired, and the rest is limitedly important.
This is the other extreme of Ghana. Yes, I am “Obruni” (“white person”). I am a walking checkbook to many. But to many it doesn’t matter. There is a genuine kindness to this culture. People walk us half an hour out of their way to make sure that we get somewhere safely. I am not surprised that somebody was walking around with the contents of my wallet, waiting to meet an obruni who knew a Zahava. It restores my faith in Ghana. It reminds me that for all the bad, there is so much good. There is so much sincerity.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
us vs. the hotel staff
** Sorry that I haven’t written in a while. I wrote I think three posts in a row and then got tired for a month. Story of my life. If you love me, you love every part of me.**
** I’ve discovered that I’m not really as interested in development and helping as Rivky is, apparently. Really, I just like to explore the world for my own amusement. I like to go to a culture that doesn’t make any sense to me, immerse myself in it for a while, wait until the things that seemed backwards now make sense, and then abruptly leave. I like to live on a cultural norms rollercoaster. (Does that sentence make any sense even after I’ve explained it?) Unlike Rivky, I am not going to discuss theories that I have for improving Ghana. I’m just gonna tell funny stories.**
**I’m not sure if I’m able to see the humor all of the sudden because I just got back from Israel (with all its glorious running water) or because this past weekend was just particularly bizarre.**
CIEE (the exchange program we’re on) took us on a group trip to the Volta Region last weekend. When CIEE takes us on weekend trips that start on Saturday, they have been sending Rivky, Yamit, and me a day early with one of the Ghanaian UPals. This particular trip, they sent Gabriel with us. He was not particularly friendly, and eventually when we got to the hotel, he just dropped us off and left. No goodbye, no waiting to make sure we got inside, no nothing. It was the three of us alone (literally not a single other guest) in this random hotel in the Volta Region. This is the story of the hotel.
When CIEE takes a day early, they pay for the transportation and send us with a UPal, but we have to pay for food and the cost of the extra night in the hotel. Fair. When we first got there, we asked the receptionist if we could stay three in a room to save money. She said no. We asked why. She said it was the policy. Fine. Whatever. Thus starts the battle of us versus the Volta Region hotel receptionist.
We checked in around 4pm, and shabbos was around 5:45pm. We got two rooms. Yamit and I were going to stay in the big room and Rivky in the small room. The first thing we notice is that the light in Rivky’s room is out. She tells the receptionist right away. The receptionist says she’ll fix it soon. The next thing we notice is that there is only one towel in each room. We asked for another towel, considering that we’re two in a room, as per their policy. They said no. We asked why. They said one towel per room; it’s the policy. Keep in mind this wasn’t a normal size shower or beach towel. It was about half that size, not enough to cover your thighs if wrapped around your body. No worries. We had a plan. Yamit would take a shower and limitedly use the towel to dry herself off. Then, I would take a shower and use the same towel. Brilliant. The truth is we’re never clean in Ghana anyway. The second you get out of the shower, you’re already sweaty from the heat and humidity. So the plan was set in motion; Yamit was on her way to the shower. A minute later, I heard, “Zahava. I need help!” I went into the bathroom to notice that the water is no more than dripping out of the faucet. Of course. Why would there be water? Where do we think we are? Israel? I went to the receptionist, and she turned on the pump. Yamit showered, baruch Hashem. In the mean time, Rivky got out of her shower and went to the receptionist to remind them to fix the light in her room. Also, while Yamit’s in the shower, it started to pour outside, lightening, thunder, the works. After Yamit got out, I went in. My shower was quite an ordeal. First, the side of the tub was about two feet thick. To get into the tub, you either have to sit on it and swivel around or basically do a split while holding the wall because there is no traction on the shower floor. I finally got in, and the storm cut the power. Rivky went to the receptionist, asked them about the electricity, and reminded them about her light. They said they would turn on the generator in 10 minutes, and they would fix the light after the storm stopped. I struggled to get out of the shower and asked one of them to hand me my phone, which has a flashlight on it. Although the water in the shower head was supposedly flowing, the lack of pressure was stressing me out, so I wanted to a bucket shower. But they didn’t give us a bucket! What? Now they think this is Israel? So I used a Tupperware container that we had brought to hold salad. Nice shower: splashing water on myself with a Tupperware container, using cell phone flashlight balancing on a toilet tank as a source of light. Shabbos came. We still didn’t have power, and we still didn’t have a working bulb in the other room. We lit shabbos candles in the big room, hoping they would light up the room somewhat. Nope. We sat around talking for a little because we couldn’t see enough to daven (pray). Then the power came back. In the room we were in, the lights came on but not the air conditioner. We freaked out for a little until I remembered that I had kept in mind not to accept shabbos until I said mincha, and it was not yet shkia, and I hadn’t said mincha. I turned on the air and said mincha. Then we remembered that the receptionist was going to come by to get the key to the other room to fix the light (that’s right, they only have one key for each room). Technically, one is not supposed to have a non-Jew do work for him/her on shabbos, so we got a little nervous. While Yamit and I were saying Kabbalat Shabbat, the phone in our room rang. We looked over at it and shrugged. A minute later there was a knock on our door. The receptionist was like, “I just called.” We got a little flustered. She was like, “I need the key to fix the light.” Rivky tried to convince her that never mind, we don’t need the light anymore, we never needed the light, we like the dark, we’re gonna go to sleep right now, um, we’re blind. It didn’t work. She insisted on fixing the light, and she insisted that Rivky go with her to the other room. Turns out, she brought the wrong light bulb. As she left to get the correct one, Rivky was able to convince her not to bother because she really didn’t need it.
On shabbos day they called again. Rivky walked over to the reception. Remember when we asked if we could stay three in a room, and they said no? When she got to the reception, the woman asked Rivky to move into our room because they needed to squish to make room when the rest of CIEE comes. She awkwardly tried to explain that we couldn’t because of shabbos. When she got back and told us, we decided that we’re not paying for the extra room if their “policy” is a load of hoo-hah. In the end, I assume CIEE paid for us.
An excerpt from the rules listed on our door. “8. Guests are to note that eating in the hotel room is not allowed. Room service are available at a fee.”
** I’ve discovered that I’m not really as interested in development and helping as Rivky is, apparently. Really, I just like to explore the world for my own amusement. I like to go to a culture that doesn’t make any sense to me, immerse myself in it for a while, wait until the things that seemed backwards now make sense, and then abruptly leave. I like to live on a cultural norms rollercoaster. (Does that sentence make any sense even after I’ve explained it?) Unlike Rivky, I am not going to discuss theories that I have for improving Ghana. I’m just gonna tell funny stories.**
**I’m not sure if I’m able to see the humor all of the sudden because I just got back from Israel (with all its glorious running water) or because this past weekend was just particularly bizarre.**
CIEE (the exchange program we’re on) took us on a group trip to the Volta Region last weekend. When CIEE takes us on weekend trips that start on Saturday, they have been sending Rivky, Yamit, and me a day early with one of the Ghanaian UPals. This particular trip, they sent Gabriel with us. He was not particularly friendly, and eventually when we got to the hotel, he just dropped us off and left. No goodbye, no waiting to make sure we got inside, no nothing. It was the three of us alone (literally not a single other guest) in this random hotel in the Volta Region. This is the story of the hotel.
When CIEE takes a day early, they pay for the transportation and send us with a UPal, but we have to pay for food and the cost of the extra night in the hotel. Fair. When we first got there, we asked the receptionist if we could stay three in a room to save money. She said no. We asked why. She said it was the policy. Fine. Whatever. Thus starts the battle of us versus the Volta Region hotel receptionist.
We checked in around 4pm, and shabbos was around 5:45pm. We got two rooms. Yamit and I were going to stay in the big room and Rivky in the small room. The first thing we notice is that the light in Rivky’s room is out. She tells the receptionist right away. The receptionist says she’ll fix it soon. The next thing we notice is that there is only one towel in each room. We asked for another towel, considering that we’re two in a room, as per their policy. They said no. We asked why. They said one towel per room; it’s the policy. Keep in mind this wasn’t a normal size shower or beach towel. It was about half that size, not enough to cover your thighs if wrapped around your body. No worries. We had a plan. Yamit would take a shower and limitedly use the towel to dry herself off. Then, I would take a shower and use the same towel. Brilliant. The truth is we’re never clean in Ghana anyway. The second you get out of the shower, you’re already sweaty from the heat and humidity. So the plan was set in motion; Yamit was on her way to the shower. A minute later, I heard, “Zahava. I need help!” I went into the bathroom to notice that the water is no more than dripping out of the faucet. Of course. Why would there be water? Where do we think we are? Israel? I went to the receptionist, and she turned on the pump. Yamit showered, baruch Hashem. In the mean time, Rivky got out of her shower and went to the receptionist to remind them to fix the light in her room. Also, while Yamit’s in the shower, it started to pour outside, lightening, thunder, the works. After Yamit got out, I went in. My shower was quite an ordeal. First, the side of the tub was about two feet thick. To get into the tub, you either have to sit on it and swivel around or basically do a split while holding the wall because there is no traction on the shower floor. I finally got in, and the storm cut the power. Rivky went to the receptionist, asked them about the electricity, and reminded them about her light. They said they would turn on the generator in 10 minutes, and they would fix the light after the storm stopped. I struggled to get out of the shower and asked one of them to hand me my phone, which has a flashlight on it. Although the water in the shower head was supposedly flowing, the lack of pressure was stressing me out, so I wanted to a bucket shower. But they didn’t give us a bucket! What? Now they think this is Israel? So I used a Tupperware container that we had brought to hold salad. Nice shower: splashing water on myself with a Tupperware container, using cell phone flashlight balancing on a toilet tank as a source of light. Shabbos came. We still didn’t have power, and we still didn’t have a working bulb in the other room. We lit shabbos candles in the big room, hoping they would light up the room somewhat. Nope. We sat around talking for a little because we couldn’t see enough to daven (pray). Then the power came back. In the room we were in, the lights came on but not the air conditioner. We freaked out for a little until I remembered that I had kept in mind not to accept shabbos until I said mincha, and it was not yet shkia, and I hadn’t said mincha. I turned on the air and said mincha. Then we remembered that the receptionist was going to come by to get the key to the other room to fix the light (that’s right, they only have one key for each room). Technically, one is not supposed to have a non-Jew do work for him/her on shabbos, so we got a little nervous. While Yamit and I were saying Kabbalat Shabbat, the phone in our room rang. We looked over at it and shrugged. A minute later there was a knock on our door. The receptionist was like, “I just called.” We got a little flustered. She was like, “I need the key to fix the light.” Rivky tried to convince her that never mind, we don’t need the light anymore, we never needed the light, we like the dark, we’re gonna go to sleep right now, um, we’re blind. It didn’t work. She insisted on fixing the light, and she insisted that Rivky go with her to the other room. Turns out, she brought the wrong light bulb. As she left to get the correct one, Rivky was able to convince her not to bother because she really didn’t need it.
On shabbos day they called again. Rivky walked over to the reception. Remember when we asked if we could stay three in a room, and they said no? When she got to the reception, the woman asked Rivky to move into our room because they needed to squish to make room when the rest of CIEE comes. She awkwardly tried to explain that we couldn’t because of shabbos. When she got back and told us, we decided that we’re not paying for the extra room if their “policy” is a load of hoo-hah. In the end, I assume CIEE paid for us.
An excerpt from the rules listed on our door. “8. Guests are to note that eating in the hotel room is not allowed. Room service are available at a fee.”
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Education Reform in Ghana?
**Please, before reading, keep in mind that I am a 22-year old student who knows absolutely nothing about anything! Please take everything I say with a grain of salt- I've never studied education theory; I have never taught classes. All I can share are my own experiences as a student.**
**Also, it's Rivky. What up, guys? We're back from Israel. It was great. More on that later. Maybe.**
I think most people who know me know that I'm not the most academically inclined person. By that I mean that I really don't excel at school in the classic way. I hate studying, and generally only do it when pushed. I didn't do so well in high school. (People never believe me, but I graduated about 105th in my class of 160, so ha!) The truth is probably that I was just lazy- I didn't feel like studying, so I didn't. And it never felt so important- my parents never stressed grades as much as other parents (for good and for bad), so I never really cared or worried about it. But another reason I didn't study, besides for my laziness, is because I hashkafically have issues with most exams, especially the ones that involve rote memorization and regurgitating information that the teacher has fed the students. I always felt like I was wasting my time, especially because of my horrible memory. Even when I did memorize the information, I forgot it within a day or two. (When I thought the memorization was useful, like when I learned what happened in each perek (1) of Torah in Harova, I memorized it and kept refreshing myself, which helped with retention. But generally, the information felt useless, and I never did the work.) When I was given a vocabulary list for Talmud tests in high school, I barely actually did it, because I honestly thought it was dumb, because I would just forget it the next day when I had to learn it like this.
Of course, in retrospect, having memorized the words would have been great for my later Talmud study. But if I were the educator, I think I would have had my students know the vocabulary by the context. I often think about my 8th grade Talmud class, taught by Rabbi E. (what was his full name??). Once or twice, instead of written exams, we had to learn a couple of dafim (3) of Talmud, and then we were asked to teach the class an amud (2) of the Talmud- I don't understand why that isn't the way students are always taught Talmud, learning by teaching.
Basically, I think memorization as an education tool is dumb. I don't think it's particularly effective in giving students the basics of learning, especially if their memory retention is horrible (exhibit A: me), and the students don't exhibit any creativity and understanding of the coursework. Of course, exams can sometimes be good- I remember an interesting essay question on an exam given by Rabbi Blau in 12th grade Ketuvim, where we had to compare the themes and specific examples from Kohelet to the song "Richard Corey" from Simon and Garfunkel. Now that's a question! Encouraging creative thing, shows the student's mastery of the material, and keeps the student's mind engaged. Chinuch (4) at its best, Rabbi Blau!
I think I've learned best when I've written papers. Critical thinking and analysis is, in my humble opinion.
Okay, now to the point. We've established that I dislike memorization and spitback exams. The Ghana education system, from elementary school to university, focuses on these tools! I haven't been in a lower school here, but Yamit teaches middle school children, and she says that the teacher writes on the board, the students scribble furiously, copying down every word, and then for the exams, the students are expected to remember every bit of information. From what I've seen, it doesn't get better. In Hopkins, I barely take exams; most of my coursework is writing papers. (And the exams I take are often in-class essays.) But when I'm in class, students are copying down every word the professor says. There are no intermittent exams throughout the semester, there one only one final exam, upon which the entire grade is based. To prepare for the final exams, student memorize their notes from class and their readings. A friend of mine who was in Ghana last semester told me that there are always exam questions that are basically, "According to author x, what is the definition of term y?" As if that sort of question helps the student in any way!! I'm taking a political science class right now. We have readings, and the class sessions are usually students just asking the professor questions about the readings. The final exam will be spitback, testing students' knowledge of the readings. There is no critical thinking involved whatsoever! If I were writing the exam, I would only do essay questions! For example, in the readings, the professor could provide the students with different theories about the political and economic interactions between west Africa and China, and about the IMF, World Bank, etc., both in the readings and in class, and then ask the students to talk about that, and which is more effective, and why, etc. The students aren't being asked to think! We are taught to read, memorize, regurgitate, and then start again next semester.
I also think that these types of education changes to encourage creativity and critical thinking in students in even more crucial in developing countries. They are trying to mold the leaders of tomorrow's generation. In America, even if education isn't ideal, we will have leaders, we will have politicians, economists, educators, etc. But if Ghana's education system doesn't focus on students expanding their minds and thinking critically, the system is too precarious to take care of itself the way the American system can.
Okay, I have to run now, but these are some thoughts I've been having about education reform in Ghana. (I'm not even going to get started on caning, which is standard practice here.)
Again, keep in mind that I really don't know what I'm saying. If I've said something factually incorrect/ offensive/ stupid, please let me know. All thoughts would be appreciated!
(1) Chapters
(2) One side of the page
(3) Both sides of the page
(4) Education
**Also, it's Rivky. What up, guys? We're back from Israel. It was great. More on that later. Maybe.**
I think most people who know me know that I'm not the most academically inclined person. By that I mean that I really don't excel at school in the classic way. I hate studying, and generally only do it when pushed. I didn't do so well in high school. (People never believe me, but I graduated about 105th in my class of 160, so ha!) The truth is probably that I was just lazy- I didn't feel like studying, so I didn't. And it never felt so important- my parents never stressed grades as much as other parents (for good and for bad), so I never really cared or worried about it. But another reason I didn't study, besides for my laziness, is because I hashkafically have issues with most exams, especially the ones that involve rote memorization and regurgitating information that the teacher has fed the students. I always felt like I was wasting my time, especially because of my horrible memory. Even when I did memorize the information, I forgot it within a day or two. (When I thought the memorization was useful, like when I learned what happened in each perek (1) of Torah in Harova, I memorized it and kept refreshing myself, which helped with retention. But generally, the information felt useless, and I never did the work.) When I was given a vocabulary list for Talmud tests in high school, I barely actually did it, because I honestly thought it was dumb, because I would just forget it the next day when I had to learn it like this.
Of course, in retrospect, having memorized the words would have been great for my later Talmud study. But if I were the educator, I think I would have had my students know the vocabulary by the context. I often think about my 8th grade Talmud class, taught by Rabbi E. (what was his full name??). Once or twice, instead of written exams, we had to learn a couple of dafim (3) of Talmud, and then we were asked to teach the class an amud (2) of the Talmud- I don't understand why that isn't the way students are always taught Talmud, learning by teaching.
Basically, I think memorization as an education tool is dumb. I don't think it's particularly effective in giving students the basics of learning, especially if their memory retention is horrible (exhibit A: me), and the students don't exhibit any creativity and understanding of the coursework. Of course, exams can sometimes be good- I remember an interesting essay question on an exam given by Rabbi Blau in 12th grade Ketuvim, where we had to compare the themes and specific examples from Kohelet to the song "Richard Corey" from Simon and Garfunkel. Now that's a question! Encouraging creative thing, shows the student's mastery of the material, and keeps the student's mind engaged. Chinuch (4) at its best, Rabbi Blau!
I think I've learned best when I've written papers. Critical thinking and analysis is, in my humble opinion.
Okay, now to the point. We've established that I dislike memorization and spitback exams. The Ghana education system, from elementary school to university, focuses on these tools! I haven't been in a lower school here, but Yamit teaches middle school children, and she says that the teacher writes on the board, the students scribble furiously, copying down every word, and then for the exams, the students are expected to remember every bit of information. From what I've seen, it doesn't get better. In Hopkins, I barely take exams; most of my coursework is writing papers. (And the exams I take are often in-class essays.) But when I'm in class, students are copying down every word the professor says. There are no intermittent exams throughout the semester, there one only one final exam, upon which the entire grade is based. To prepare for the final exams, student memorize their notes from class and their readings. A friend of mine who was in Ghana last semester told me that there are always exam questions that are basically, "According to author x, what is the definition of term y?" As if that sort of question helps the student in any way!! I'm taking a political science class right now. We have readings, and the class sessions are usually students just asking the professor questions about the readings. The final exam will be spitback, testing students' knowledge of the readings. There is no critical thinking involved whatsoever! If I were writing the exam, I would only do essay questions! For example, in the readings, the professor could provide the students with different theories about the political and economic interactions between west Africa and China, and about the IMF, World Bank, etc., both in the readings and in class, and then ask the students to talk about that, and which is more effective, and why, etc. The students aren't being asked to think! We are taught to read, memorize, regurgitate, and then start again next semester.
I also think that these types of education changes to encourage creativity and critical thinking in students in even more crucial in developing countries. They are trying to mold the leaders of tomorrow's generation. In America, even if education isn't ideal, we will have leaders, we will have politicians, economists, educators, etc. But if Ghana's education system doesn't focus on students expanding their minds and thinking critically, the system is too precarious to take care of itself the way the American system can.
Okay, I have to run now, but these are some thoughts I've been having about education reform in Ghana. (I'm not even going to get started on caning, which is standard practice here.)
Again, keep in mind that I really don't know what I'm saying. If I've said something factually incorrect/ offensive/ stupid, please let me know. All thoughts would be appreciated!
(1) Chapters
(2) One side of the page
(3) Both sides of the page
(4) Education
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