If someone had of
told me a few months ago that I will wind up in Sudan dancing in a ministry
office during the middle of the day, I would have laughed out loud.
But life in Sudan so far has been already filled with many wonderfully bizarre and unexpected moments.
But life in Sudan so far has been already filled with many wonderfully bizarre and unexpected moments.
Rebecca and I
accompanied SVP coordinator Becca to a meeting at the Ministry of Education
today, where we were introduced to SVP champion Aifa.
A former English teacher herself before taking up her position in the ministry's planning department, Aifa tells us frankly that she became disillusioned with teaching after realising she was merely talking to her students rather than teaching.
Teacher-student interaction in class is almost unheard of in Sudan and one of the big failings of the country's education system remains it's adherence to a rigid curriculum, focusing largely on rote learning and exam preparation.
A friendly, quietly-determined woman, Aifa visited all 60 of Khartoum's schools, including the city's elite private institutions after accepting her position at the ministry.
She is also the driving force behind a new pilot program that the ministry is implementing in conjunction with SVP to help improve English language standards in secondary schools and provide more opportunities for teacher training.
As part of the new program both Rebecca and I will initially be teaching in secondary schools in Ed Damer, although it's hoped the program will be expanded further in the future.
For such lofty goals, the meeting began rather informally and after some small talk we sat down for a shared bowl of fuul (mashed fava beans) and sweet tea with Aifa and the other office ladies.
Quite unexpectedly Aifa told us that if we waited for an hour we could also meet the Minister herself.
We returned to the ministry later, but there was still no sign of the minister.
Aifa, however, seemed determined to keep us there, if somewhat unsure of what to do with us in the meantime.
After awhile she suggested we go upstairs to see a “program”.
We were all unsure of what exactly she meant by “program”, but nevertheless we headed upstairs to a large auditorium.
The heavy doors opened to reveal a loud party in full swing. Plates of peanuts and dates were laid out and a surprisingly good two-piece band were playing as the crowd clapped along enthusiastically.
A bevy of photographers and a cameraman covering the proceedings almost fell over themselves to capture the arrival of the khawadjas (foreigners).
More music and speeches followed and Aifa explained that a young man called Ahmed - who works in the Special Needs department and suffers from a physical disability himself - had recently graduated with his Masters in Special Needs Education.
To celebrate the occasion his colleagues had thrown a party in his honour.
Ahmed, who was also flanked by his mother and sister, was practically beaming as his colleagues lined up to shake his hand and present congratulatory gifts.
The men heartily slapped his shoulder, while women embraced his mother.
Rebecca and I were also whisked to the front of the line to offer our own congratulations to a rather bashful looking Ahmed, as the team of photographers again came running to snap our photos.
It was an incredibly moving and joyous moment to witness and one I suspect will always remain with me.
As the music started back up again, some ladies put their arms around Rebecca and I and we joined in as the crowd spontaneously began to dance.
Sudanese dancing involves bouncing rhythmically on the one spot, with hands raised above your head while clicking your fingers in time to the music.
The women also began to let out a series of high-pitched whistles - a practice typically used to express happiness.
After all, we do meet the Minister. Dr Suad Abdulrazak comes across as a sincere and down-to-earth woman.
She shakes our hands and speaks about her enthusiasm for the pilot program and the benefits she thinks it will bring.
As she farewells us, she tells us to visit her office anytime or call her if we needed anything.
Still, in the end our meeting with the hierarchy of education pales in comparison to the joyous celebrations of Ahmed’s achievements that we were so lucky to be a part of.
A former English teacher herself before taking up her position in the ministry's planning department, Aifa tells us frankly that she became disillusioned with teaching after realising she was merely talking to her students rather than teaching.
Teacher-student interaction in class is almost unheard of in Sudan and one of the big failings of the country's education system remains it's adherence to a rigid curriculum, focusing largely on rote learning and exam preparation.
A friendly, quietly-determined woman, Aifa visited all 60 of Khartoum's schools, including the city's elite private institutions after accepting her position at the ministry.
She is also the driving force behind a new pilot program that the ministry is implementing in conjunction with SVP to help improve English language standards in secondary schools and provide more opportunities for teacher training.
As part of the new program both Rebecca and I will initially be teaching in secondary schools in Ed Damer, although it's hoped the program will be expanded further in the future.
For such lofty goals, the meeting began rather informally and after some small talk we sat down for a shared bowl of fuul (mashed fava beans) and sweet tea with Aifa and the other office ladies.
Quite unexpectedly Aifa told us that if we waited for an hour we could also meet the Minister herself.
We returned to the ministry later, but there was still no sign of the minister.
Aifa, however, seemed determined to keep us there, if somewhat unsure of what to do with us in the meantime.
After awhile she suggested we go upstairs to see a “program”.
We were all unsure of what exactly she meant by “program”, but nevertheless we headed upstairs to a large auditorium.
The heavy doors opened to reveal a loud party in full swing. Plates of peanuts and dates were laid out and a surprisingly good two-piece band were playing as the crowd clapped along enthusiastically.
A bevy of photographers and a cameraman covering the proceedings almost fell over themselves to capture the arrival of the khawadjas (foreigners).
More music and speeches followed and Aifa explained that a young man called Ahmed - who works in the Special Needs department and suffers from a physical disability himself - had recently graduated with his Masters in Special Needs Education.
To celebrate the occasion his colleagues had thrown a party in his honour.
Ahmed, who was also flanked by his mother and sister, was practically beaming as his colleagues lined up to shake his hand and present congratulatory gifts.
The men heartily slapped his shoulder, while women embraced his mother.
Rebecca and I were also whisked to the front of the line to offer our own congratulations to a rather bashful looking Ahmed, as the team of photographers again came running to snap our photos.
It was an incredibly moving and joyous moment to witness and one I suspect will always remain with me.
As the music started back up again, some ladies put their arms around Rebecca and I and we joined in as the crowd spontaneously began to dance.
Sudanese dancing involves bouncing rhythmically on the one spot, with hands raised above your head while clicking your fingers in time to the music.
The women also began to let out a series of high-pitched whistles - a practice typically used to express happiness.
After all, we do meet the Minister. Dr Suad Abdulrazak comes across as a sincere and down-to-earth woman.
She shakes our hands and speaks about her enthusiasm for the pilot program and the benefits she thinks it will bring.
As she farewells us, she tells us to visit her office anytime or call her if we needed anything.
Still, in the end our meeting with the hierarchy of education pales in comparison to the joyous celebrations of Ahmed’s achievements that we were so lucky to be a part of.
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