Luck Of The Draw

We are born where we’re born, plain and simple.  As I look out at the overwhelming struggle that millions of South Africans face every day, I am reminded of how lucky I’ve been in life.  Sure, I’ve run into small challenges here and there, but nothing, nothing even close to the daily trauma – crippling poverty, ongoing violence, overt racism, and dysfunctional schools - that shapes life for countless people in and around Cape Town.  I was born into a two-parent home, as opposed to 65% of south Africans being raised by a single parent (usually the mother).  The fact that mine was a highly-educated family, with both parents earning post-college degrees, increasingly advantaged me in profound, priceless ways.  From that beginning, that privileged foundation, I was blessed with two amazing people who loved to learn and religiously shared that interest with me and my brothers.  I can distinctly recall my parents taking turns reading to us, especially before bed, asking us deliberate questions about each book to see what/ how we thought.  Of course, we had no idea what they were doing at the time, but, as a father now, I see and appreciate it clearly.  Beyond loving us, they pursued every avenue to spark our minds and imaginations, to render learning fun, exciting, and worthwhile.  By doing so, they provided us with a secure, encouraging environment in which we felt safe and willing to take chances.  As an avid doctor, my Dad would also regularly shoot science questions at us to “see what we were made of.”  And though most of his pop quizzes flew right over my head, their lasting impact remains; I now adore throwing questions at my own kids, both far brighter than I, who step to the challenge with a ready smile.  They will even toss a few random questions at each other, just to spice things up – or make them more competitive.  The point is, my kids are as fortunate as I was, born into homes with two loving parents, food on the table, and a resonant respect for learning.  Living in Cape Town, a community partially deprived of such conditions, makes us even more grateful.  In fact, Carolyn, who works in early childhood public policy in the U.S., recently attended the Lego conference in Pretoria, South Africa.  One of the more animated presenters there, a highly acclaimed, internationally recognized reading expert, drove home the idea that parents are role models in everything they do.  Their kids, in turn, absorb their behavior.  Just as violence begets violence, therefore, reading begets reading.  It’s not rocket science.  So that is why the situation is so dire here.  According to research, only 1/3 of adults in South Africa read for pleasure; only 15% of 4^th graders can read for meaning; and a whopping 120,000 dropped out of primary school (grades 1 – 7) last year, citing poor quality of education as the main reason.  And therein lies the mountainous, multi-dimensional challenge before South Africa: can it ameliorate the chronic social ailments that paralyze countless families, leading inevitably to violence, divorce, and poverty?  If they can, through job creation and access to education, then children - and their children, and their children… - will benefit, in ALL ways.  And shouldn’t that be the primary goal of any civilized, forward-thinking culture, the welfare of its youth?  For those kids born here, in homes bereft of love, security, and intellectual encouragement, the very future of this country depends on the answer to that question.    

Student-Centered Learning

A few weeks ago, I was asked to speak about student-centered learning at one of the high schools at which I’m currently teaching.  And though apprehensive at first, uncertain of how to best capture a sharply different instructional approach, I ultimately accepted the invitation and couldn’t be happier I did.  With little time at my disposal, I opted for a PowerPoint presentation to highlight some of the student-focused learning strategies commonly practiced at AHS.  Among the subtopics I touched upon were student-arranged classrooms, student-crafted questions that drive curriculum, student revision for growth, and project-oriented learning for independent and collaborative work.  Without going into too much detail - especially since most AHS teachers already know about these methods, I devoted most of the presentation to sharing ideas on how to “give power” to the kids, to let them feel that their learning is self-generated.  For example, many of my colleagues and I will frequently ask the students to contribute 3 to 4 great questions in response to a night’s reading (part of a book, short story, etc.).  During the next class, the students convene in groups to discuss and analyze these questions, eventually writing their most valuable prompt (M.V.P.) on the board for class discussion.  As with the other techniques, the students are clearly driving the energy of the class, both intellectually and verbally; the teacher merely points to the prompts on the whiteboard to elicit additional conversation from as many kids as possible.  By contrast, in South Africa the seniors (or grade 12’s as they are called) have to take their Matriculation exams at the very end of the year.  These are much like AP’s back in the U.S., but, like A-levels in Britain, they essentially determine where you go to college.  Therefore, the curriculum tends to focus inordinately on testing prep. rather than on ways to best explore and engage the subject matter.  In other words, they only receive questions.  As a result, many SA students with whom I have worked lament the “heaviness of school” and the fact that they don’t see the point.  I sympathize entirely.  Students should be able to work hard all year and to earn credit for that sustained effort.  Why place so much emphasis on a final exam, which, for many reasons, can go very poorly?  Instead, why not pursue instruction that allows students to wrestle with and answer complex questions of their own design?  The skills -- problem-solving, critical thinking, communication, analytical -- associated with projects can then challenge and develop higher-level thinking for standardized tests and future professional success.  What’s more, the students come to view this style of learning as far more satisfying and practical.  In the end, presenting on our system at AHS was a fantastic honor, allowing me to freely exchange ideas with my SA colleagues and reminding me of how strong a system we have at home.  I am thankful for that. 

Technology and Townships

Yesterday was so cool! Carolyn and I were invited to a corporate workshop, cleverly entitled Idea Maker, that challenged everyone in the room to consider the relationships between technology and small businesses in townships. Though well outside my realm of expertise, I was eager to hear more about township life and culture. After quick introductions, the 20 participants were divided into two groups and asked to circle around two tables. Once there, we took turns flipping, reading, and discussing roughly 20 sequential info. cards, strategically placed top to bottom. The cards themselves offered invaluable insight and statistics into small business owners’ lives, including their goals and priorities, their feelings/ concerns about technology (apps and services), and the reasons why success was so difficult. 

Surrounded by super smart, interesting people – three Cape Town business owners, two University of Cape Town Sociology professors, two marketing business consultants, and two NGO directors, I felt equally intimidated and curious. The discussion was instantly thought-provoking, as each and every person weighed in on very big questions/ problems. The card set-up was also very effective, forcing us to see patterns that we might not have seen otherwise. And after only a few minutes of taking it in, I threw my hat in from an educator’s perspective. Responding to one person’s point about older township members’ natural distrust of technology, I asked whether students could serve as a more suitable inroad for that type of growth. Especially if children could then educate their parents and grandparents as to the functions and benefits of certain Apps, why not start from that angle? Another group member then asked how we could make something go viral, so that small business owners could be made aware of the power of Apps. To that question, one of the two women in our group who had grown up in a township responded firmly: “Remember, these people are just trying to survive; they’re also aware of the fact that visible devices are expensive and readily stolen.” Most of us had not even thought about that. She then went on to enlighten everyone on what township cultural hierarchy meant: “If the people with power and respect in the community don’t verbally support technology, it goes nowhere.” Clearly, speaking with them first is imperative. We then devoted a few awesome minutes to discussing ways that kids, as integral and techno-savvy members of the community, could bridge the gap between resistant community leaders and business owners and technology-friendly systems. As we arrived at the end of the card castle formation, we had developed a much clearer sense of township life and the plight of any business owner in that environment. In fact, as another person acknowledged, “survival obviously trumps (sour verb, sorry) initiative, so technology has to be more accessible and friendlier to townships business owners if we expect them to use it.” Another great point. 

Returning to our seats, my mind reeled. What a mind-boggling problem that South Africa was trying to tackle! I had made a few reasonable points about the potential role of education, which were thankfully well received, but that was only a small piece to a colossal puzzle. Without far more education and reliable technology, which has to move through the proper cultural channels, our ideas would be nothing more than good intentions. Just as technology has transformed healthcare around the world, bringing education and supplies to millions who previously lacked them, we all believed that it could greatly improve the standard of living for hundreds of thousands of disadvantaged Cape Townians. We all shook hands on the way out, thanking each other for a great experience, and keenly aware of the immensity of the challenge. At least we got a good start! 

False Conclusions

Khayelitsha is the largest township in South Africa.  It “houses” roughly 400,000 people within a stifling 15 square miles of space, about 10 miles east of Cape Town.  Seeing it for the first time, months ago, jolted me.  A sea of tin shacks, jammed like sardines in a can, stretches in all directions.  Heaps of trash pile up outside the barrier wall built to initially keep inhabitants in.  Thousands of rusty electrical wires run above the metal town in a poorly assembled effort to provide the smallest amount of energy.  Most unsettling, dozens of tiny children as young as two walk unsupervised alongside busy streets, some dressed and others not.  It is a chilling symbol of poverty, with the average annual income, I’m told, of under $1,000 a year.  It is also a perfect reminder of Apartheid, the systematic and forceful relocation of human life, matched only by the holocaust in terms of abject violence and scope.

So when Carolyn and I were invited to visit a non-profit organization in the center of Khayelitsha, all I could imagine was more metal huts and diapered vagrants roaming the streets.  The organization is called SportsCode, devoted to planning athletic tournaments and clinics as a way of keeping kids off the streets and giving them hope.  For over a week, I had played email tag with one of the two founders, Ayando, until we finally hammered down a firm meeting time.  That morning, as we drove through the back streets of Khayelitsha, I was struck by how different the homes appeared.  Unlike the van-sized hovels that confront passerbys on the highways, these were freestanding, solid structures.  Amazingly, most had actual one-door garages, small yards, and many large glass windows.  This made no sense.  I was eager to meet Ayando so he could set me straight.

Several turns later, we pulled into a long driveway that led to what looked like a small stadium.  Waiting for us at the security gate, Ayando, dressed in a white basketball jersey, loose khaki shorts and sandals, smiled warmly, shook our hands, and welcomed his office building.  Just a few steps in, he turned to me to say that he had had a tough night.  Asking him why, he informed me that his friend had been mugged by two other young men that they knew, and that he had spent most of the evening trying to get his friend’s belongings back.  He then proceeded to detail the entire situation, pointing out that “families in Khayelitsha take matters into their own hands because the police are useless.”  He was clearly tired and frustrated, confused about what to do.  Nevertheless, he quickly pushed that aside, escorting us into the sporty building he called the Barn.

We signed in at the front desk, walked through a small hallway, and entered a well-lit office space with about a dozen desks and a comfortable sitting area in the far corner.  That’s where we went.  Calling his partner to join us, named Abuntu, we all grabbed a seat and began to discuss their organization.  These two guys instantly impressed us.  At around 30, with no formal business school training, it was remarkable what they had accomplished.  They spoke candidly about their upbringing, citing sports as a source of ongoing motivation and direction in their lives; they wished to offer the same to others.  To fund this venture, they started a touring company called ABCD Concepts. For roughly $20 a person, they provide a 3-hour guided tour through Khayelitsha, either driven or on bikes.  They then explained their overarching goal of designing a sports complex nearby, at which kids could regularly meet and participate in a host of activities, both athletic and educational.  There enthusiasm, however, was checked by the politics that kept the project at bay.  Too many people weren’t on board, simply because they “didn’t have authority.”  Carolyn, with her MBA background, asked great questions to help them see additional possibilities.  Without an MBA anything, I just applauded their perseverance and intuition.  Here were these two young guys, obviously faced with enormous uphill challenges, financial and logistical, determined to realize their dream.  What’s more, they were two of the brightest, most-purposeful people I’ve met in a long time.  They were well aware of their plight, but they were no less committed to doing right by their community.

After finishing our 1-hour chat, Ayando and Abunto brought us outside to the back of the building.  There, at the center of a large courtyard, stood a winding 300-step, wooden staircase that climbed up to a giant deck overlooking Khayelitsha.  Once at the top, we could see in all directions.  On the outskirts, we could vaguely make out the thousands of tin huts that I thought comprised the entire community.  But closer to us, the homes were actually quite nice.  When I asked Ayando about the contrast, he told me that everyone from Cape Town thinks the same, that Khayelitsha is nothing but poverty and despair.  Abunto added that, though those things are more than real, people who never visit Khayelitsha only see it from the outside.  They do not understand the good that exists beyond the walls.

Driving home, I felt genuinely ashamed.  I had assumed that Khayelitsha was nothing more than a lost world of disrepair - how easily we judge from fleeting, first impressions.  Abunto and Ayando are two of the most inspirational people I’ve met, naturally good at heart and committed to improving their world.  And from that high balcony, I could see that Khayelitsha neither wanted nor needed my pity; plenty of people were doing well enough to buy homes and cars, and to raise strong families.  Carolyn and I are excited to help Ayando and Abuntu in whatever ways we can.  With years of coaching experience, I’m happy to blow a few whistles, and Carolyn can provide business expertise along the way.  Whatever I do, I am eager to understand and respect Khayelitsha for what it truly is before jumping to any more rash, dumb conclusions.