Tonight is a wilder night of street violence, as best I can tell from twitter....  After listening to the speeches on the radio and then watching coverage on the news, now twitter is the best source of information.  How odd to be sitting here reading online while one part of the conflict happens a half mile at the university.  Yes, obviously it's better this way.  No, I'm not going out tonight to see it.  One student has died, apparently run over by a police truck.  All my classes for today are rescheduled for tomorrow, but we'll see what people think in the morning.   The goal was to provoke police response, I think, and they got what they wanted.  Reports of police firing at an ambulance won't help, either.

no particular focus

Nice, eh?  There's what my favorite nun, Sister Wendy, would call a 'wonky' quality to the lines, as if it's more Cezanne painting than photograph.  I just liked the building and the shot, and so I include it.

As I write, the "Y En a Marre-ists" as they're called here are gathered in the park by the obelisk again.  Mme. Diop has the radio on at full volume listening to the speeches live.  She's rather like my mom (Hi, Mom!) full of rage for the imbecilities of politicians.  I'm surprised she isn't down there herself, really, although she doesn't leave the house much.  Both my classes today were cancelled, the high school students out of anxiety about the demonstration and the university students because they had their own protest today for a student was killed on this date several years ago by the police.  The death toll from yesterday's demonstration up north has risen to four, and Obama made the front page of the papers here calling for President Wade to retire and let the next generation take over.  Obama is extremely popular here.  I've seen bumper stickers, pictures on backpacks, and t-shirts.  It would have made a good present to bring some.

Here are the ancient, colorful and smoky buses that move everywhere in Dakar and beyond.  They're painted rather like the boats in St. Louis with bold colors, images of a marabout (Islamic holy men from a Moroccan tradition), and names like "City Boy" or "In Sh'Allah."  For twenty cents you can ride any distance.  They tend to be pretty full, generally, often having two or three guys hanging on the back riding on the back bumper.  You can see one in the top photo if you look closely.  If you're riding the back, you bang on the side loudly to tell the driver you'd like get off.  He'll often just slow down instead of stopping, making for some dramatic mid-traffic dismounts.

More data points

I've just finished reading Julian Barnes' The Sense of an Ending.  While I'm still struggling with its larger provocations, I'm struck by the line, "History is that certainty produced at the point where the imperfections of memory meet the inadequacies of documentation"(18).  As I try to construct and share some understanding of what's happening here, I appreciate how provisionally Barnes defines history.  Of course I'm attempting something closer to journalism than history, but it still feels ragged and incomplete.  Beyond the things I saw Friday and Saturday, I've read local papers, tracked tweets about Senegal, and read a few blogs and newspaper articles.  The papers here go beyond sensational and the partisan.  You need to read a half dozen of them and create a sort of Venn diagram of reality. I guess we all do that on the web most the time now anyway.    In that spirit, I offer a few additional, documentary notes about what's happening here.

Today, two people were killed by police 300 km north of here at a protest against the government.   I saw another burned out car on my run this morning and street cleaners  removing the ashes of burned tires in a nearby traffic circle.  The papers, radio and TV cover the situation constantly, and even when the reporters are speaking Wolof, I repeatedly hear the name of the president, the opposition groups, and the word 'manifestation' (protest).  Saturday night there was a power outage from late afternoon until midnight.  Everyone believes it was an intentional attempt to prevent people from hearing more news about the protests.  The papers noted that several websites that provided news about the conflict have been hacked or shut down.  Tomorrow,  the opposition groups M23 and Y En a Marre plan more protests.  The papers suggest they'll barricade streets and try to shut down the city.  I'm scheduled to meet with both Mamadou's and Pape's students to work with them, but it all depends.  I'm supposed to work on video introductions for the high school students to their American counterparts, but the first part of exchange scheduled for March will likely be put off by the unrest (I'm coming to dislike that word).  All plans now end with the phrase, 'In'shallah' as they say here- God willing.

While I walking in St. Louis Saturday, a man came up to me and asked if I was looking for a hotel. (Yes, it's that obvious).  And while I usually  ignore these approaches, I indulged this older man.  He told me he worked at a nearby hotel and would take me there.  I knew the point was a tip or a cut, and I thought I had already passed this hotel, but I was tired after looking at four different places.  We talked on the way, and he noted that President Wade had done 'lots of good things' and that he didn't understand why people were so upset.  The graffiti in St. Louis offered a different view of the election as well.  The countryside is more traditional, respects age and authority more, and is expected to vote for Wade.  When we got to the hotel, the girl seemed to challenge his role and then ignored him.  He appealed to me, asked if he hadn't brought me there, and forgot about the fact that he obviously didn't work there.  While I knew the expectations, his sudden shift to anger made me unsympathetic.  As I started moving up the stairs following the girl to look at the room, he grabbed my arm, became agitated, and said I wasn't "gentil".  I too ignored him and the attempted implicit obligation.  No doubt his politics also changed my earlier willingness to indulge him.  And while I didn't take that room either, I did come away with a glimpse of the way rural Senegal views the political upheaval of Dakar.  No doubt President Wade understands this, too.

A calmer weekend

This weekend I went up to the 350 year old town of St. Louis, former French capital of all the west African colonies.  Getting out of Dakar was eye opening.  I actually felt like I hadn't been in Africa until yesterday, and then most of it was still from a car window, albeit a 25 year old Peugeot 505 wagon with extra seats, bad alignment, and 8 passengers with bags.

On the way into the bus/Peugeot station, I saw evidence of  'unrest' (to use that euphemism) in plenty of places and gendarmes everywhere.  Remains of burned tires and rubble still marked the roads.  A few cars and shops had been burned out, too.  At least one was a Chinese shop.  There's resentment against the growing Chinese influence here.  One of Pape's students said that all the engineering projects go to Chinese firms now because their prices are so low, but he said the work is substandard.  Another told me you're better off buying used technology now over new Chinese goods.  On my trip back today, however, the police presence was mostly gone, and the unrest shifted to the radio and the back seat of the car ride home.  The beating death of a policeman by protesters has also affected the tone of the debate.  It's quiet now while everyone plans next steps.

My quiet weekend involved wandering around St. Louis.  The city was chosen for a nearly perfect shipping location.  Protected by a barrier island, it sits in the mouth of the St Louis river where it empties into the Atlantic. It remains a traditional fishing village with hundreds of boats that they build and paint here.  

Some of the ancient colonial French grandeur remains on its carefully gridded streets.  Some civil buildings, a couple hotels, and some warehouses in addition to many houses.  Yet I have to admit I struggled to admire the architecture amidst the trash and decay.  This morning I watched as a young boy took out the trash.  He walked the bag to the edge of the river, turned it over and dumped it in.  He shook it carefully afterwards to make sure it was empty.  It was.  This beach at the southern edge of the island was far from the worst of it.  Goats work the trash, too, but it's hard to accept it as mitigation.  Here as in other places murals offer environmental encouragement.  This one says, "We fight against filth," but even this image suggests the battle is being lost.

Unbelievable.  The '5 sages' decided President Wade can run for a 3rd term and people are out in the streets, in the downtown and and university areas.  My friend Mamadou and I were coming home from a concert downtown when we passed a half dozen police.  I'd never seen a tear gas gun up close before.  A row of burning tires forced us to turn around and take the corniche home.  A few trucks of riot police were positioned at corners downtown.  As we headed up the corniche, a group of guys had just spread tires and scrap wood across all 4 lanes in both directions and were trying to light it on fire.  Mamadou was about to go move a tire so we could cross, but the taxi driver warned him off, and we turned around, hopped a large curb, and found another way out.  Here police were just putting out some burning tires.  It appears that groups of people are moving around, perhaps playing cat and mouse with police, making their anger visible. I didn't see any large crowds, although we didn't go past the obelisk park where the rally was this afternoon.  I've come to learn how much steel is in a steel belted radial tonight.  It's a decent amount, really.  When we drove through the university, a few dozen students were standing around, but they weren't burning anything.  The nightclub a block from my house looked as busy as ever.  They didn't let the decision spoil their night.

Most people assumed this decision would go this way.  The fatalism here has been earned the hard way, as tonight suggests one more time.  Wade had appointed all the judges and raised their pay by some exorbitant amount.  Rumors, which spread rapidly and change quickly, here, suggested the court would avoid a decision claiming they weren't qualified.  I guess at least the last part was right.  The people here were already enraged at the president's efforts.  Some have spoken about a fear of violence, and I don't think burning a few tires counts yet.

Tinderbox

Dakar is oddly quiet today.  The newspapers pinned on a cord next to the highway caused a crowd to gather with their dire headlines.  CIEE advised its college students who arrived this week to get to know their host families and stay inside.  Everyone advised me to stay away from the protests this afternoon. The quiet roads suggest that many people are staying home and waiting.  Many people speak of a fear of violence.  Senegal seems at a new peak in its constitutional crisis.  The "5 Sages' as they're known ironically in the graffiti, five supreme court judges (who just happened to get huge raises last month) are expected to issue their decision today on President Wade's desire to run for an unconstitutional 3rd term.  He claims the constitution was reformed halfway into his first term, so it's really only a 2nd term on this version of the constitution.

Every person I've spoken with emphatically disagrees, and this banner tries a mathematical approach to tell him.   Although the judges have set no time to issue the decision, now people think they're going to wait until midnight to do so.

A coalition of opposition groups Y En a Marre (Enough Already) and M23 (A student group named for the June 23rd date the National Assembly denied the president's last attempt to change the constitution) planned a protest for today at the Place de l'Obelisk which was forbidden by the president.  They're still there now, with riot police massed just down the road.

Y En a Marre is known as an artists group and has made good use of Youtube videos and rap music to get their message out.  They seem to share some similarities with the Occupy Wall Street movement. 

This afternoon, a few thousand people of all ages gathered, with many more waiting and watching in the side roads around the park.  Despite the headlines and the police, loud music and and the large crowd created a party atmosphere.  Senegal 

enjoys free speech in addition to their free press, and the crowd  was exercising it today.

Groups supporting different presidential candidates wore t-shirts and posted banners.  The organizing groups wore t-shirts as well, and Y En a Marre people worked the park picking up trash while rap singers worked the crowd into some waving and chanting.  This poster suggests that Karim, the son of the president known bitterly and facetiously as the "Minister of the Earth and the Sky" because he's been given so much authority, should free his father. The shirt below takes the direct approach.

The morning run

I'm imagining some kind of photo essay of my morning run today, with the Polica soundtrack played louder than most would appreciate.  It's hard to take these photos, much less to do so at sunrise when I'm running, so I'll try to describe a few scenes here in words.  Of course I still feel a bit naked in shorts and t-shirts here, most people run in sweat suits, especially in the morning when it's considered cold.  I cut through the narrow, dirt paths of the Mermoz neighborhood filled with people heading to work, and then cross a road into the strip of oceanside embassy housing with their high walls, SUV's blocking the sidewalks, and guardiens sitting next to the doors.  The road through here is a favorite of beggars, especially the handicapped for some reason.  I run past, greet two who man the roundabout, one w/ a pair of crutches the other in a wheelchair.  They smile and greet me as they do everytime I pass.  The two or three mothers with small children sleeping on blankets are more subdued.

On the corniche, the wind picks up a bit as does the diesel smell.  Along the coast empty trash strewn lots alternate with massive half built condominiums. Their glossy promotional posters use words like 'lifestyle' which seems like an obscenity.  A few kilometers up the peninsula, a fishing village surrounds a large mosque down on the water below the road.  I start up one of the mammels (breasts- the name for the two hills) and the gigantic sculpture of father, mother and child looms on my right.  A lighthouse sits atop a cliff to my left.  After I move through a small commercial are called Ngor, I turn onto a smaller road.  Today a dozen policemen sat in and around an open pick up truck with billy clubs and body armour.  Two stood on the corner making their presence known.  A gigantic protest is planned for this afternoon, and the president has said he will use force to stop it.  This was part of his warning, apparently.  I feel a bit more naked than before running past these large, impassive men and head down the hill toward the beach.  

I found a small patch of sand today, and dropped down the rock face to sit in the morning sun and listen to the surf awhile.  Unlike last night when I was feeling the isolation of being here, this morning I couldn't believe my luck.  On the water were a couple of dozen long, low wooden fishing boats that they make here.  About 200 yards out from me, four men stood in long djellabas. One used a paddle to orient the boat while another pulled up the net and a the third picked out fish and put them in a bucket.  Apart from the small outboard engine, it might have well been Peter on the Sea of Galilee.  

Where I share my medical expertise

Yesterday, I taught Pape's class from the IPDSR (Institut de Formation et de Recherche pour le Developpement et Sante de Reproduction) a lesson on the American health care system.  These students come from Chad, Ivory Coast, Gabon & Burkina Faso.  None of them are Senegalese.  Pape teaches them medical English, which means technical terminology but also conversation and general language skills.  I started by asking what they already knew, and found that some knew more about Obama's health care plans than many Americans.  When I asked what 'health' means, trying to define terms, one rattled off the World Health Organization's definition verbatim, and everybody cracked up.  It was part of their reading for yesterday, which I didn't know.  After I got into some comparative statistics and global healthy system rankings, they were, of course, shocked by the costs of the American health care system.  When I reported the health insurance cost for Jada, Lisa and I, including the amounts our schools pay, they quickly took out the calculators on their phones to translate it into CFA's (the local currency).  They were dumbfounded.  And when we discussed the infant mortality rate in the US (6.7 per 1000- highest in the developed world) one asked why we spent so much money on wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.  I could only agree with him.  It was one of many moments when the situation of people here makes it very difficult to justify the privilege of our lives there.

It's all politics here, too

And it's hard not to start with the headline in today's paper.  President Wade apparently offered the Senegalese national soccer team 20 million CFA ($60,000) each plus a house if they win the Africa Cup which is underway.  Like the wrong footed price increases on rice and cooking gas this week, Wade seems oblivious to the plight of the people in his country, and their rage just seems to grow.  Papi, the college student whose house I live in said, "That's our money!"  I don't imagine Wade will be releasing his tax returns, either.  Today's bus/taxi strike left the roads full of walkers, although there were some large buses and some illegal taxis running, too.  "Les Clandos," private cars used as clandestine taxis stepped up today, too.

Unfortunately, there doesn't appear to be an opposition candidate with any particular momentum.  Of the 12 candidates running, three are former prime ministers who were pushed out.  Wade has had five prime ministers in ten years.  Only some of these candidates seem to be using posters, but all of them put their images on the posters.  Mustapha here, goes for substance with lots of text about a January conference and his party affiliation.  I'm less sure about the meaning of the white cloth.  I'm guessing in Senegal it's not surrender

Now Tanor seems to burst with enthusiasm and good will in this image.  He's also got the simplicity thing down and even the colors work for him.  This poster is green but others are blue.  He's got my vote, based on aesthetics. 

Now Gadio, however, is another story.  Is it the orange color?  the creepy smile?  That finger pointing straight into your chest while he talks to you, no, it's the gold bracelet, I think.  Why do I think his slogan "Liberate the Energy" might really mean "Liberate the Treasury"?    The only word I've heard in support of singer Youssou N'Dour is that he doesn't need any money and therefore shouldn't be corrupt.  That, at least, would be a nice change.

Seeing the trees

Amidst the chaos of streets in Dakar, the occasional Baobab trees still seem shocking.  The sheer girth seems to have caused the sprawl of the city to pause and move around each one.  This one sits next to the corniche on the corner of a villa that didn't seem to dare try to wall it in, and therefore walled it out.  

It also serves as an art gallery, and these were two of my favorite pieces.  Based on the palettes and chairs between the tree and wall, it might also be a residence although no one was here last Sunday.

getting louder already

When I arrived at the Lycee John F. Kennedy (a public girls high school) this morning at 10:00, A dozen policemen half sitting in their pickup truck and half standing in the street watched as a five or six tires burned in front of the school.  Students were pressed up against the iron fence watching the scene with amusement.  Another crowd of passersby gathered in the park behind the police watching.

Yet the whole scene was more comic than threatening.  While the police seemed stressed, this local barista saw a good marketing opportunity and moved around the scene moving product.

This student protest, arranged by graffiti on the wall apparently, lacked organized chanting, posters or speeches. A crowd showed up, a few tires were burned in the street, the police arrived to make it all official (and a few spent the day at the intersection near campus for the rest of the day) and then everyone went about their business of not going to class.

Afterwards, Mamadou and I met with a group of six students and we worked on videos to send to a school in Philadelphia before the schools exchange students in March.  For these students, the potential of an 'annee blanche' (a wasted year they'll have to repeat) is more disturbing than a protest.  They seemed glad to spend the day working on their English scripts for the projects and finding new ways to incorporate the vocabulary term of the day- "talkin' trash."

In this election season, Dakar is covered in graffiti and posters. This one is from a fringe group that supports the president Abdoulaye Wade in his attempt to run for an unconstitutional third term.  Apart from graffiti like this, I have yet to hear anyone say a civil word about the current president.   Mme. Diop, my 73 year old landlord, gets visibly flustered with every political conversation.  Abou, the corner nescafe barista predicts violence in the street.   An Occupy Wall Street style group called Y En A Marre (We're sick of it) held its one year anniversary yesterday in a downtown park with street theater exhibits about the problems facing the people of Senegal.

From the US, we're used to distant rumblings about difficult elections.  Certainly I struggle to keep track of all the current political trouble spots. Except for the 2000 presidential election in Florida (oops!), we expect our election process to function, if not always well.  Senegal's 35 year old democracy is about to be tested and people lack our confidence.  Although I didn't see this in the NYT or the Washington Post, Hilary Clinton's warning to the president has been big news here.  People appreciate any international attention that adds to the pressure on president Wade.  In a conversation today, the head of the International School of Dakar felt pretty sure that the election would go smoothly, but even he mentioned the 2011 post election civil war in Ivory Coast that led many people to flee here from the violence.  The fact the political parties here have no ethnic affiliation reduces the risks of violence somewhat.

If you have heard of this election, you probably know that musician Youssou N'Dour is running for president.  Remarkably, none of the people I've talked to have mentioned his name.  They don't seem to share our fascination for celebrities crossing into politics.

As I've noted, teachers have been on strike, high school teachers since November and the university professors haven't entered a classroom since fall.  Each group is using the election to press its demands at election time.  Tomorrow, truck drivers, fishermen and bread bakers will start their own strikes.  For three days there will be no buses, fish, or bread.  And here, those are big things.  Two weeks ago, the bus and taxi drivers went on strike, and many private car owners joined in.  The roads were largely empty for two days, I'm told, and nobody went anywhere.  As in the French system, strikes are more common here serving as much as a form of political dialogue as economic leverage.  And that conversation is about to get much louder.

Greetings from Pape Diop

Last night Pape invited me to dinner and to watch the Senegal vs Zambia game.  I came prepared w/ presents, but somehow we hadn't quite gotten precise about how many kids he and Assou have, and I was definitely short a few.  I knew about the two sets of twins, the first 24 years old (now off at university in Morocco and France) and the next set 12, but there were also a couple in between there and two little ones, the youngest Mustapha below with his mother.  Assou is a Spanish teacher and a midwife, but even by local standards Pape recognizes his family is a big one.  Two sets of twins helps, of course.

Once we'd finished dinner and the Senegalese defeat appeared obvious (really, about 10 minutes into the match) the three of us and his brother talked about the difficulties making a living here.  Pape has a Phd and and a post at the University, but he also teachers visiting students with US based exchange programs and a medical English language course.  His brother taught elementary school for 20 years, has written and produced a play, and still felt the need to go back to school for another degree.  Assou has degrees in Spanish education and midwifery.  Yet, Senegalese say, "A mouse has many holes" meaning you always need another source of income for security.  Given the current two month teachers' strike, they've been very glad for the extra jobs.  And as part of the strike, faculty seek housing near the university which was agreed upon but never done after the last conflict.  He lives on the north end of the peninsula in the distant suburbs but would like to be able to afford to live closer.

He also reminisced about his time in Minnesota, both the difficulties of leaving his family for that time and the remarkable place that he found at SPA.  He graciously recalled people offering winter clothes and invitations to dinner (Sushimita's cooking ranked highly here).  His first experience with a laptop stood out, too, when he had gotten pretty far on his syllabus and then couldn't find anything.  He recalled Cheryl Brockman asking, "Did you save anything?" and he could only respond, "What do you mean, 'save'?"  

Pape sporting retro SPA soccer jersey

Assou & Moustapha (2)

Somehow, this article feels more revolutionary coming from this source.  There's momentum here.  http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/22/education/edlife/the-21st-century-education.html

A wedding

As you can tell by this (too distant) image of the wedding happening around the corner, taking pictures still feels very difficult.  It feels like they kill the experience by casting it in amber (bits?) and here, people are quite sensitive to toubabs (white tourists) with cameras.  I tried to get a shot of a Curves sign in the center city today, and the two women at their fruit stall thought I was taking a picture of them and scolded me.  They couldn't have understood my confusion at the presence of a Curves franchise in Dakar.  Somethings are inexplicable.

Nonetheless, I managed a photo of this wedding in the park nearby.  Many women dressed in bright grand boubous with live music under the tent.  My landlady, Mme Diop, is there now, as it's the neighborhood event of the weekend.  While it looks exotic to my eyes, I tried to imagine how a Melrose wedding would look in reverse, w/ a reception at the VFW hall and a polka band thumping a bit more slowly than this one.  The dancing would be calmer, the clothes would be less bright, as well, but the beer would be flowing more freely.  The kids running excitedly in groups around the edge of the event would be just about the same.

First glimpses of schools

I arrived Wednesday morning, and was met at the airport by both Pape Diop, a fulbright scholar at SPA 8 years ago, and Mamadou Signate, an English teacher who attended the Stanford Design workshop as part of a group from their partner school, Chestnut Hill Academy.  They had already checked out my hotel, helped me find a permanent place to stay, and made me feel very welcome.

On that first jetlagged afternoon, I toured Cheik Anta Diop University and met several of Pape's colleagues. The campus was filled with students milling about normally, but with the faculty on strike, they couldn't attend classes.  In fact, both high school and university teachers are on strike and could be until the elections later next month.  They are trying to use the upcoming election to pressure the government to keep promises made during the last political conflict.  Each night the news shows crowds marching w/ signs and then shifts to an angry man-on-the-street interview.  The neglected buildings and unimaginable student teacher ratios reveal the problems of the system.  Pape described students standing outside classroom windows listening to lectures when the rooms fill up.  Seeing hundreds of them on a campus without classes made it easy to imagine.

Today I visited John F Kennedy Lycee, a public girls high school, where Mamadou and I met with a group of students using the design process to create student gathering places. We started with a visit to the new principal who listened for awhile and then inexplicably shifted into a lecture on female modesty.  At one point she turned to me to make an important point, and I had to note "j'en sais pas beaucoup" (I don't know much about that). The students listened dutifully, and then we went to a classroom where they explained their research on the empathy stage of the process.  I related SPA's long standing questions about and desire for functional student space to note our common issue.  Mostly, however, I appreciated this window into education here.  I hope to continue working with this group even if the teachers remain on strike.  The fact that another teacher was holding class surreptitiously in the next room shows the students' desire to get an education despite deep political dysfunction.

It's hard to know where to start, so I'm going to keep it simple. Pretty much every day starts with coffee, right? This was the corner opposite my hotel my first morning in Dakar.  Since then, I've seen these young men on several corners. This is the Dakar version of Starbucks.  These young men, and only men do this, set themselves up on a busy corner with instant coffee, powdered milk and a pot of hot water.  The barista here is about to pour the mixture from one cup to another which he does three times rapidly for each customer.  I tried to catch that in a picture, but failed. It makes for a dramatic presentation, but of course it's still instant coffee and powdered milk.  This stall has the rolling Nescafe stand which moves from place to place as needed.  On the corner nearest the place I'm now staying, a large cardboard box protects the whole process from the strong, dusty harmattan winds of the past two days.  I haven't tried the coffee, yet.

Have we changed?

As teachers, do we feel embarrassed when it’s suggested that the classroom hasn’t changed in 100 years?  Should we?  Is teaching a timeless and universal act, communicating knowledge from one person to another, from one generation to the next?   Or are schools frozen in a factory model that no longer reflects the world around it or serves their students and teachers?

Maybe that’s a cheap question used by critics, yet the general perception that everyone knows what happens in a classroom, that it hasn’t really changed, underlies many education discussions.  As teachers, we’re well aware of the convenient oversimplifications of the rhetorical yes or no questions.  We use them regularly to provoke dialogue.  Yes, of course school has changed- we’ve adapted to many social and pedagogical changes.   At SPA we’ve added Harkness tables, adopted a one to one laptop program and replaced Latin with Chinese.  Or perhaps, no, education really hasn’t changed as students still move in groups from class to class following teachers’ curricula in ‘core’ subjects defined at the creation of the comprehensive high school in the 1920’s.  We still launch our curricular airplanes in the fall and land them in the spring, hoping everyone arrives safely.  Assessment of content knowledge still forms the largest parts of grades because teaching and assessing skills feels messy and subjective.

Louis Menand’s book The Marketplace of Ideas tracks change and reform in the American university system noting the influences of economics and politics over time.  Of course reforms, both large and small, are part of the natural cycle of all organizations, although like many, I’ve felt education seems more prone to the reform urge than other systems.  In Disrupting Class, Clayton Christensen credits education for remarkable progress.  In a somewhat flattering opening, he notes that, “In essence the public schools have been required to do the equivalent of rebuilding an airplane mid-flight—something almost no private enterprise has been able to do.  On average, however, schools have done just that—adjust and then improve on each new measure” (51-52).   This analogy differs from another transportation analogy sometimes used for education reform- ‘rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.’  He does go on, however, to suggest that online learning will be a ‘disruptive’ change that will fundamentally alter schooling.  

 In Larry Cuban’s How Teachers Taught, a history of American K-12 education, he surveys the past 100 years in teaching and find few progressive moments amidst decades of teacher centered direct instruction.   Defining progressivism, he notes, ‘reformers wanted instruction and curriculum tailored to the children’s interests; they wanted programs that permit children more freedom and creativity than exist in schools; they wanted school experiences connected to activities outside the classroom; and they wanted children to help shape the direction of their learning’ (50).  I have to admit I find it disturbing the progressive education goals from 1920 to 1940 sound so much like the goals of the current 21^st Century Skills movement.  And more disturbing that it’s still too far from my own classroom.

So, is it a fair question?  Has education changed?  Even without any definitive answer to the question, our own answers underlie our attitudes about change.   Perhaps a more useful question is- Has it changed enough?  Here, I think most would agree it hasn’t.  Certainly, most recent conversations I’ve heard at SPA suggest a readiness for change. 

Why Senegal?

If all stories are about leaving home or returning, either Iliad or Odyssey, I wonder if blogs are, too.  In this section I hope to describe if not understand Dakar, Senegal for the next six weeks leading up to their presidential election on February 26^th, 2011.

Sitting to write on this 10 degree morning in Minnesota, a rare January mosquito bounces against the window.  As I start taking anti-malaria pills in a couple of days, this seems somehow ominous.  

So, this leaving contains several stories of course, but I’ll start with a simple one.  About 8 years ago, SPA hosted a Fulbright scholar from Dakar (Pape Diop, a name equivalent to John Smith here) who taught African Literature and French.  He and I became friends and stayed in touch.  We occasionally joked about working together in Dakar some day.  Last year when writing my sabbatical plan, I recalled those jokes and wondered if I could really work with Pape at Cheik Anta Diop University coaching his PhD English Literature students in writing?  On a Skype call last winter, his teaching team agreed to the plan. The opportunity to live in a place like Dakar not as tourist or traveler, but rather as a colleague within a community feels like an amazing chance to reunite with a friend and to have a brief window into the way most of the world lives.  And while I will appreciate January temperatures in the 70’s and 80’s, a coastal location and amazing music, working in the African university system will be a challenge as this NYT article suggests-

http://tinyurl.com/AfricanUniversities.     

Should the university shut down as it did in the last contentions elections, my back-up plan is to work with a middle school teacher I met at the Stanford Design School workshop in June.  But having lived and worked in Greece and Morocco, I already know that best laid plans thing pretty well. If all else fails, I'll drink coffee, run on the beach, and listen to amazing music.  Now that's a back up plan.

here goes-

I meant to launch a sabbatical blog weeks ago, but as I started clicking, the first requirement was a title.  I was dumbfounded.  Titles usually come at the end of a process not the beginning.  How could I name something I didn’t understand yet? I imagine using it beyond this sabbatical, and I struggled like my students typically do looking for something brief and apt.  After a few weeks of pondering (one luxury of sabbatical) Steven Johnson’s Where Good Ideas Come From offered ‘the adjacent possible’ which he, crediting scientist Stuart Hoffman, describes as:

A kind of shadow future, hovering on the edges of the present state of things, a map of all the ways in which the present can reinvent itself (31).

Having always appreciated the possibilities of margins, edges, and boundaries, I start this space in the spirit of sabbatical reflection and reinvention.  While a blog suggests monologue, I’d love some dialogue. Please.  I’ll record sabbatical experiences to share w/in and beyond the SPA community.  I hope they might suggest topics for discussion here and elsewhere.  Thanks for visiting.