Three months after graduating college I sat in front of that classroom – apart – and stared out at twenty-eight faces, sitting neatly in groups of five, staring straight back at me. Their look was one of anticipation. Anticipating me to do what I was trained to do – teach. Except that in that moment I had nothing.
Four years of learning theory and philosophy and pedagogy became meaningless words on a page. All I could see were those faces and behind those eyes worlds that I never learned about. Ten years worth of life filled with experiences that had nothing to do with two-digit multiplication or subject-verb agreement. And it was my job to connect the two.
Sunday morning will be my first full day in Burkina Faso.
I have read the statistics.
I have learned about the culture.
I have seen the pictures.
I have heard the stories.
I have made checklists for packing.
Or have I – really?
Is there anything I can do to prepare myself for those faces? Those faces who will look out at me in anticipation? Starving for Hope, the Hope that is promised, with no tangible evidence that it exists?
My job is to connect truth and experience.
Or is it?
What I am about to see, hear, and feel is impossible for me as a human being to take in, comprehend, and respond to. It can’t be done, and it’s not my job.
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