Shining stars

It’s the 30%, maybe the 5% or even the one in a million that reminds me I can’t give up. The reason is because one shining star can save the world and maybe even Laos.

Mr. K is my neighbor. I don’t see him behaving as the best student in his class. I seem him in his daily life, which can be more honest and revealing. This morning I see him dressed and ready to go somewhere with the aura of intention that demands the question, “Where are you going?” After all, it’s a Saturday.

He says he’s going to go to the Internet shop to look for pictures. He’s going to be teaching in a local school from February 2011 as part of his teacher training and wants to prepare things for his students. This is not a homework assignment. This is something motivated by the desire to use a Saturday well. He’s going alone so I know this is his own idea. You can’t start to imagine how exceptional this is.

I recognize his intentions because I have high hopes of spending a productive Saturday too. He’s noticeably deflated when told the electricity is out for the entire day. His plans for a productive day are shot.

He has an urge to search for information and this is very rare. Most are content with what’s fed to them in class, no matter how nonsensical it is. He already knows that there is more outside the little box he’s been trapped in.

His first Internet search did start with a class assignment. Was the teacher really so clever as to know how hard it would be to find “significant female Lao leaders?” They had to be dead too. I helped Mr. K search since I didn’t think he’d think to use the word “significant”. We found cabinet members, but they weren’t dead yet and wiki only had two sentences on them. He didn’t feel it was enough despite my urging and once we clicked away, he couldn’t find the page again for the next few days of searching.

“Martin, I’ve spent 4,000 Kip looking and have to come home with nothing.” I reminded him that he spends much more money at school for many more hours and probably comes home with less. Suddenly, he measures his own learning, be it by the clock or by Kip. It’s a new standard and there’s a new urgency.

He’s already tried the library, but it’s usually closed and the librarians don’t know Dewey from “don’t have”. I made Mr. K promise to get himself to a real library some day in his life, a library where the more esoteric his question, the more respect he’d get.

There are many things I have to ask him to believe since he’s never experienced them before. How would he know? He’s surprised to hear that dress codes aren’t the most important thing in American schools. I tell him, “People are judged by their minds, not by what’s on their feet,” and this surprises him.

Shining stars are lonely people because their lights are not reflected. If anything, they are envied or used by others. They don’t know that they are seeing things that others can’t see yet. People will try to pull them down, at least until their success and truth becomes undeniable dazzling. That’s what I urge them to aspire to.

Mr. K is listening seriously. I know he understands. It’s a weight and responsibility that many shining stars didn’t ask for, but once they’re lit, it is not acceptable for them to go back.

Med students

Sometimes I catch myself becoming a little too Lao. Things that seemed odd at first become natural, like the idea of eating insects. But there are limits. If the smell of burning plastic ever becomes fragrant, I’m going home.

Years ago I remember having a strange conversation in which some guy would pepper every comment with precise percentages. “74% of the people in this district want to study English.” “98% believe that educating their daughters is important.” “I ended the conversation when he said something about 100% of some ethnic minority being liars.

Recently I was pressing medical students for percentages. Being good students, they were resistant. “How can we quantify what you’re asking for?” I wanted to know the breakdown of students at the medical school. How many are studying, how many are drifting and how many are there for completely other reasons. The student gave in and came up with numbers. 30% are learning, 20% are not and 50% are there because their parents want them to be doctors.

I felt that my intuitive assessment had been confirmed and was impressed with the 30%. At the Teachers Training College the rate of competency can’t be over 5%. Some who are more precise say 3%. Just this morning one student asked me in a new hybrid of Lao/English, “Jao si go where?” Does that scare you? These are future teachers.

I’d be really scared if these were the students operating on me, but so far, the med students seem more legitimate. Not only are the books selling like toasted rice balls, there are students with an entrepreneurial streak who have caught on. They’re buying books for 12,000 and selling for 17,000. They pay cash first. You can’t imagine what a relief this is to me and how much of a total nightmare it is to leave books on consignment.

I spent many years and tens of thousands of dollars to develop something I thought could be used as an English language curriculum only to be greeted with blank stares. I made these books in direct response to the miserable things schools are insistent on using. One teacher complained that if they used my books, I would make too much money.

I talked to someone who has done education work in Africa and is convinced that the language education field throughout the world is a dead-end, especially when money is thrown at it. Medicine is not my specialty, but let’s hope the next time you’re on a Lao operating table, this investment pays off.