The Road to Abenua
By: Catherine Murray
Tags: Teaching, Ghana, Education

Seven people are crowded into a five person car. Nick and I are sharing the front seat as we drive on a seemingly endless dirt road. We are headed to a rural village called Abenua, about three hours from Kumasi. Our first stop is the Ghana Education Service building where we have to talk to the director about our project. He asks us obscure questions and seems skeptical of our plans, but eventually we persuade him to let us move forward. Next, we head to the carpenter to pick up the table for the solar panel. When we arrive, we learn that the carpenter hasn’t finished the table that we paid him to build. Knowing the Ghanaians this isn’t too surprising, nevertheless disappointing. We still have the supplies to teach the kids so we will just have to install the solar panel on our next visit.

We hop back in the car and keep driving on the dirt road. Eventually we pull into the school yard and get out of the car. The children gather by the windows that lead to the courtyard and stare at us. They generally don’t have a lot of visitors because there is no public transportation that travels this far. We talk to the teachers and organize eighteen students to teach them how to use the breadboard. As we do this, the students continue to watch our every move. Their eyes flicker as we walk around, some with curiosity and others with skepticism and distrust. I look into their hardened eyes and smile, hoping to reassure them. Some return the smile while others stare with a greater intensity than before.

We split the students into two sections and we begin teaching the first group of nine. We give them each a kit that includes all of the materials that they need. I hold up each item in the kit and tell the students its name. Emmanuel, a student from UC Berkeley and a fellow intern, translates my statements into Twi. The teachers told me that most of the kids will have trouble understanding my American accent, which is an accent I never knew I had.

Emmanuel and I are referred to as “the engineers” in the office. We generally neglect to remind everyone that we have only made it through half of our undergraduate career.

We start with a simple circuit to teach the students the basics about the kits. Emmanuel, Nick and I work with the students one on one, and once the teachers understand, they are able to help teach too. Each student is able to get their light to turn on and then we move on to a more complicated circuit. This one involves LEDs, resistors, and a decent understanding of the meaning of positive and negative. I watch as the students struggle to build these circuits. They have trouble getting the pieces in the right places, but I can see the determination in their eyes. Slowly, the breadboards begin to light up across the room. As each student is finally able to turn on their light, a wide smile creeps across their face. When they look up at me, the skepticism in their eyes has disappeared and has been replaced with accomplishment and perseverance. I return their smile, but my heart feels empty.

Perseverance, n. persistence in doing something despite difficult or delay in achieving success

As the students smile at their achievements, I am suddenly struck with the reality of their situation. After teaching for just an hour, I have seen the innate intelligence of the students. They possess all of the qualities that one needs to succeed; they have drive, resolution, and determination. However, most of them will never have the opportunity to leave the village. They won’t be provided the necessary resources to reach their full potential. After one of the students was able to get the light to turn on, I told him that he was an engineer. He looked at me quizzically and I explained what it meant. His teacher helped to translate my explanation into Twi, and he smiled at me with gratitude and excitement. He was intrigued by the possibilities that the world has to offer. All these students need is an opportunity to achieve, but for most this will never come. I become both overwhelmed with happiness about the success of the project and acutely aware of its limitations.

As we drive away, I feel like I am leaving something, or someone, behind. I imagine myself inviting all fifty students in the school to join our already overfilled car. I know this is unrealistic so instead I imagine each student walking home and showing their parents the lights that the are able to build on their own. I imagine the students staying up late at night and using their lights to read. I imagine that one day these students will learn more about circuits at a university. I imagine them finding a job and building a better life for themselves. And one day, I imagine that my imaginations will become a reality. The road to Abenua is simple, but the road from Abenua is a much more difficult journey.