LEARNING (NOT) BY THE BOOK: V VILLAGE
This village is not wealthy, but it is a joyful place for children. They can play in the street without worrying about cars. There are no strangers to offer dangerous candies. Babies stay strapped to someone's breast rather than being sent to day care. But children are not read to when they go to bed. A foreign teacher concludes that, “Lao people don't understand the culture of reading”. What she doesn't understand is that in many places, there are no books.
4.1 Arriving
V Village is reached by a small boat and is easy to miss. Only the cluster of tall palm trees indicates that a village is there, hidden beyond the riverbank. Backed by high peaks, the village is peaceful and scenic though blank plots of packed dirt testify that ten families in the past year have abandoned the village to find fortunes in Vientiane. There are few ways to generate revenue in the village. Tourists pass the village as they head upstream, but the foreign currency they hold simply floats by. Without English knowledge, villagers feel that there is no way to convince travellers to stop.
I am stopping here to spend the Lao New Year with Boun A and his family. Boun A is one of two students who have left the village to study in Luang Prabang. They are the exceptions. Most V Village students cannot continue past high school because of the education costs. Tuition for schools in Luang Prabang can exceed 200 dollars a year. Boun A’s parents have little cash flow and he is aware of the sacrifices they are making to pay for his education. They eat the rice they grow and supplement their diet with wild bamboo and fish. There is no irrigation system for a dry season crop so cash is made through selling mandarin oranges, harvested once a year and selling for 15 cents a kilogram.
A proper Lao New Years is celebrated with baci ceremonies. White cotton strings are tied around the wrists symbolising spiritual strength for the soul. The ceremony is especially important when someone travels far from home. Prayers are made for safe journeys and better futures. In some ways Boun A is feted for being the only student to go to Luang Prabang. Most of his friends are already married and have children. In other ways, there may be a prodigal son parable in the making. Boun A admits that his reason for studying is to escape farm labour, but if he returns home without skills, his parents’ investment will have been in vain. The investment is risky and ultimately the results depend on the will and motivation of the child.
He is happy to be home and enjoys chatting and catching up with his friends and neighbours. Nobody appears to treat him with special deference, but coming back from the big city, he dresses in his best clothes and brings back a new suitcase. His CD player gets a lot of attention as does the foreigner in tow. He can demonstrate his English ability, though admits that he won't talk if someone around speaks better. In this village, there is little competition.
When I first ask Boun A what he wants to do after he graduates, he says that he wants to be a guide in Luang Prabang. Everyone seems to want to be a guide, but only those with excellent verbal skills in foreign languages can qualify. Being a guide is simply a dream for most. Later, he says that he wants to be a teacher in his own village, though this may be to just placate me. I later learn that there are two programs at the Teachers Training College and the program he is taking will not grant certification to be a government teacher. Maybe villagers know this because they don't talk about him as their next prized teacher.
With his friends, he can talk about life in Luang Prabang, but cannot easily convince them of the worth of an education. There are no examples in which an education has brought wealth. In fact, there are no visible signs of individual wealth in the village. All houses are uniformly made of strong bamboo except for the village chief's wooden house. There is one TV and a VCR player and they attract a big crowd on movie night. Those who can’t afford the 5 cents entry fee listen from the outside. The village is peaceful with few signs of competition, envy or materialism and seems firmly anchored by the temple, located in the center of the village.
4.2 The heart of learning
The temple was destroyed in the war and is being rebuilt with funds from a Lao relative overseas. Traditionally, the most important functions of the community happened in the temple and that included education. Presently, it still serves as a community centre, but learning has now been secularised and the monks are no longer responsible for children’s education. Formal learning happens in the public elementary school, now located on the outskirts of the village.
In the temple grounds, men and women are standing in large circles. They are having a village meeting led by the three elected village chiefs. These three men do not run for election on their own accord, but are nominated and voted into office by the villagers who know their characters and abilities well. I explain to the village chiefs that I am interested in providing books for ESL study and they are enthusiastic. They are convinced that speaking English can help bring tourist revenue to their village.
The fathers are the most verbally enthusiastic about education. I have a conversation with a 53 year-old man while sitting and watching the young men play takraw. He is a bit drunk, but most people are since it is Lao New Years. He says Americans are bad people. I say that I am American. He points to what looks like a gully and tells me that American bombing hit his village badly. The temple was destroyed. During the worst years from 1966 to 1968 people lived in caves to escape the bombs. I visit one later and see the soot from cooking fires on the ceiling. The air smells of bat droppings and I am told that large poisonous snakes live in holes.
They could hardly grow rice to eat, much less go to school. His generation missed out on an education. Not only is he determined to have his own children educated, he also wants to learn himself. He says that if he had books, he could learn in three days. It seems an ambitious claim, but even a few English phrases could help him approach tourists at the boat dock. Finally, he tells me that if I bring books, I should bring them myself and not entrust them to anyone in Vientiane or even someone downriver. “Bring them here yourself or it'll never reach us”. I ask about aid organisations and he gestures toward his pocket, explaining that by the time everyone takes their share, nothing is left for the village.
Later that evening, Boun A and I are invited to another baci ceremony. A daughter has come home from her job in a garment factory in Vientiane. I am offered Lao alcohol and food served on a spoon. One woman says, “We're about the same age, so we're friends”. Some bawdy jokes are made to more laughter. One middle-aged man tells me, “I want you to know our history. Are you interested?” I tell him that I am all ears. He talks about the war, why he didn't have a chance to study and how much he wants to study now. “We want to learn, but there is nobody to teach us”. This is repeated like a mantra several times.
Four men are talking about the potential of their village as a tourist spot. They mention a cave, a waterfall and an old stupa. One man asks me directly, “What do we need to catch foreign revenue?” I answer as I have heard others say, “You need English”. So then the conversation turns back to the little schoolhouse made of bamboo, the lack of qualified teachers and the scarcity of books. “We need a good teacher here”, they say. “I'd even collect money to pay for one”.
When they talk of a good teacher, they don’t mention their village teachers. There are two male teachers in charge of the 95 elementary school students. The one teacher I talk to is soft-spoken, but he takes time to explain how two teachers manage large classrooms. He tells me that they divide up the students and while he instructs one group, the others do independent work. He calls it “kon kua” which translates as “research”, but I'm not sure what they can research when there are no books. I suggest that if there were books, he could teach English too, but he responds with a wry smile. I interpret this to mean that he doesn't have the confidence. Students in Luang Prabang are quick to criticize their teachers, but the teachers cannot be faulted. They must work with overcrowded classrooms, an outdated or inappropriate curriculum and a lack of teaching tools. Most are still in the process of learning themselves.
I see these men in the truck the next day, but they are not as boisterous. In fact, they don't engage in conversation with me. I wonder if the enthusiasm the night before was simply oiled by the liquor and hopes for assistance. It is just speculation, but there could be a cycle of enthusiasm and resignation. If I feel donor-fatigue, villagers must feel patron-fatigue. Promises to help are broken and life returns to the daily cycles.
4.3 Local wisdom
Part of the daily cycle is to look for fish. Fish are harder to find and it may take a whole day to catch enough for dinner. Two villagers take me out on their boat for the day. They think it is absurd that I offer to row and it is soon apparent to me that fishing is not just about gently floating down a stream. The river rises and falls each day, exposing and hiding rocks and changing the course of the rapids. They have mentally mapped an entire stretch of a river in flux and know how to manoeuvre each dangerous passage. They throw nets standing in small boats that I can hardly keep my balance sitting. The two are in perfect co-ordination, able to unravel a long string net in a current and circle back to collect the fish. We can say that some people are born on skis and these villagers are without a doubt born on the river. Their vast knowledge is taken for granted. It is what is necessary to survive. A father asks me about my university degrees. He says that his knowledge is just a smidgen in comparison and he gestures as if pinching a grain of salt.
In the village, I see communal learning happening everywhere. The New Years celebrations have finished and I am able to observe a regular day in the village. It is still dark, but I can hear the family going about their morning household duties. Today, the women are heading out to collect bamboo shoots. During the day, Boun A's family yard attracts a small crowd, either because I am a curiosity or because the repairs on the water turbine are interesting. People appear idle, but most are not. Preadolescent girls have babies strapped to their chests and are performing full-time childcare duties. Someone is scolded when chickens peck at the rice drying in the sun. Someone's job is to watch. Another child sits idly, but jumps up when his mother comes up the hill with enormous bags of bamboo shoots on her back. Everyone has a job and everyone must learn.
Boun A's mother runs her house like a competent CEO. She doesn't bark orders, but her 11 year-old daughter is always at attention. The whole family operates this way. In constant contact, a wrench is passed, a boiling pot checked or something spilt wiped up. Learning is facilitated by observation and an acute sense of communication. On the river, people talk at great distances and over the roar of rapids without shouting. In the day, when I bring out my camera, news spreads and children converge within minutes. When a domestic spat erupts, a crowd swiftly gathers around the windows to hear the details. In village life, nothing is hidden and everything is observed. Children absorb it all and anybody older must be a good teacher and set a good example.
Parents want to teach their children. They must be frustrated by their inability to pass on book learning. The best they can do is pray at a baci ceremony, pay the tuition and hope for the best as their children drift downstream. One mother tells me, “I wish my daughter were a boy”. She doesn't mean that boys are smarter or work harder. In fact, her 12 year-old daughter is at the top of the class. What she means is that if the child that she is sending far away from home were a boy, she would not have to worry as much.
4.4 The children
The younger children are still at home in the village. Many wander in and out of the house to visit and play. I invite a 12 year-old to write the alphabet and I can see her enthusiasm in the way she is ready to take up the pen as soon as I finish each letter. Then the boys come and take over and she recedes to the back. Observing her do the housework, I can see a mature sense of discipline and responsibility unusual for a girl of twelve, but she is shy to talk about her studies.
I am told that girls are encouraged to study just as boys are and that it is mainly up to the individual, but girls do marry young. There are no arranged marriages, but boys must make a payment to the bride's family. It is around 100 dollars in V Village, but much higher in the city. A village man recently married a Luang Prabang girl for $ 1 300 US. He sold off the family's buffalo. Marrying into a rich family ensures a better future, but it is not necessarily a buyer’s market. A girl can be choosy too.
For young students in V Village, book learning is an abstract concept, being that there are no books. Self-study is impossible under present conditions. but most of the parents I talked to were concerned about their children’s education and searching for ways to support them. The only written material I see in the house is a calendar. The children are not only fascinated with the pictures, but also by the English words. When I teach them the alphabet, they want to write “April”. Children have learned to manoeuvre boats and split up live chickens and show interest in learning languages as well.
One child has no problem mimicking the sounds of English. I use gestures with phrases, “row a boat”, “take a bath”, “go to sleep” , “wake UP!” His pronunciation and intonation are perfect. He has the same attention, receptiveness and clarity that I observe among villagers in general; those who know where underwater rocks are, those who check that a pot doesn't boil over, those who know when they are being called. The village is a university of emotional intelligence and I imagine how it could easily be translated into book or language learning.
4.5 V Village: Looking back
A village without books looks like a place empty of learning, but on closer observation it is clear that communal, socially integrated and independent learning is alive and well in the village. The unique sociocultural condition of the village is acknowledged by a 1998 Asian Development Bank (ADB 1998:5) report which states that in rural Laos the “traditional learning environment is still very active”. The report stresses the need to bridge traditional and formal institutional learning, but does not specify how this can be done. It is possible that students learn more than they should in the schools. Some learn that grades are more important than learning and can be bought by those who can afford them. Some learn that they will never have equal opportunities in society and some girls learn that they are less important than boys.
