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The above photo is a of a volunteer teacher. That's right. He teaches his village's children for free. In this photo all the kids were exclaiming "Sir, Sir!!" They all wanted to show off their English skills. I've never seen a class so into their lesson. They were all practically fighting to have a chance to say the answer. It's quite different from the typical American classes I sat through. You got talked at. You sat in the back of the class to hide. This school is one that Save the Children gives aid to. It's one of the better off ones. It has a cement floor and the students sit at desks. There is a sign on the front door saying that it is against the rules for teachers and students to abuse/rape the girl students.
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This was taken in a temporary school structure made of thatch and thin tree branches. When it rains, school gets canceled. There are no walls. There are no desks. Kids sit in the dirt for their lessons. There is one grade taught outside, they can't fit everyone in the temporary structure. Soon this site will have a permanent building made with brick and an area for a bathroom. Right now there is no bathroom. Feces are all over the site. Soon they will have a cement floor to keep kids healthier. There will be no electricity or running water. There will be two holes in the ground for the students to go to the bathroom. They will be put far away from each other to prevent girls from being attacked.
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This is one of my favorite pictures. Not because it's great composition or anything. I just like the silly side of these kids.
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This is from the orphans and vulnerable children child care center. They have made do with the little resources they do have. They use already eaten corn cobs as counting manipulatives, they use two sticks to form a see-saw. They created a basketball hoop with a stick and a piece of wire and the kids use a balled up plastic bag to throw.
3 comments:
Awesome shots!!
I left Africa an incredible mess after 2 years of crying for home and filling my head with pictures of sexy company pining for me. I came home and was ridiculed for my dreads that had rooted quickly under the skills of the various village moms who nurtured them. They were close to my ass with naturally red ones interspered. I was spiritual, confident and ridicule. I wanted to hold the pain I saw in my hair forever. My mom and dad didn't want me to go to church with them. My youngest brother thought my hair smelled like dirty ginger ale. I cried everyday for a few weeks because I couldn't say how sad I was that the Africans I met knew something of me that I didn't and when I thought I did, my family didn't know me anymore.
hi!
My name is Pablo. I'm writing from Italy. I'll be in Malawi from 08.24 to 09.10'08. Can you give some info of a children care center for donate a part of the scholastic material that i'll bring?
My email is: jpph_it@yahoo.it
Thanks!
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