How to hold a pencil?

48 huge brown eyes looked at me, wide in wonderment. 24 children squatted around huge, pristine white rectangles of paper placed on the termite ridden, flaking concrete floor, each clutching a wax crayon like a precious gift. Silence as I bent down, showing them, group by group, how to make a mark. Expansive grins evolved from gentle bemused smiles as the red, blue, green, yellow and brown shapes appeared to decorate paper, which was to make the first wall display they had ever seen. Uncertain lines and baby scribble but what could one expect from a first attempt? A shriek. A snapped colour stick caused one small mite to dissolve into tears. My laughter reassured him and placing one half in each hand he continued with enthusiasm. Imagine reaching the age of five and six and never having held a pencil or crayon.



The teacher stood as mystified as his pupils. I found him, like a rabbit in headlights, terrified of the little creatures that he had been charged with educating. Moved from a higher grade he was clueless as to what to do or how to begin to get their attention. Attempts at reciting ‘Capital A, small a, capital B, small b,’ as he banged the blackboard with his stick had proved futile. Enter Hawa to throw his world into turmoil.

We spent a week together, learning nursery rhymes and games, talking of routines and curriculums, planning and schemes of work.

By Friday pictorial rules, a timetable and the children’s work were taped to the peeling walls. I sat and watched him take the class. It wasn’t perfect, (his answering the phone 4 times and leaving the room and children because he was hungry didn’t help, but in a culture where this is acceptable who can blame him?) The children sang, using strange sounding English words, alongside Mandinka, Fula and Wolof. They organized and played games we had taught them and they located the number 2 and letter ‘a’ on the blackboard. As for writing? Well give them a chance.