It Starts on Monday

Monday, September 27^th: I walk along the dusty road as the sun is hitting its stride; 12 o’clock is near. I hear a motorcycle behind me and turn to see the familiar face of an English professor, Barnabé. He is a short, of medium stock, has a wide, large nose. His smile is grand, but his teeth can’t be seen until his smile reaches its full potential, revealing a gap in the front, or maybe it’s a chipped tooth. I have not talked to Barnabé since school ended in June. Finishing the usual greetings, he asks, “Are you ready for school next Monday?”

Monday, October 4^th, I know it is the date given by the Education Ministry for the first day of school. Last year they said early September, only to move it to the first week of October. School started on the 14^th of October. I make a comment to Barnabé, pointing to the obvious: We both know school won’t start until the Monday following the next.

Monday, October 4^th: On principal, I wake up earlier for my morning run; I wash my bicycle and pump air into its tires (it has sat neglected since June); I take a shower; and I dress myself for school.

8:10 a.m.: I leave for school anxiously, wrapping my panya around my waist, as to cover my knees and shins while pedaling my bike. I am running late. When I was 11 years-old I left for softball practice an hour before it started. My dad’s opinion: “If you aren’t at least 15 minutes early, then you are already late” – we lived thirty minutes away, which meant we were always more than 15 minutes early. My dad was not raised in Benin, West Africa. Last Thursday a teachers’ meeting was scheduled for 8 a.m. I arrived at 8 a.m. We started at 9:30 a.m. On Friday I was invited to a ceremony, which started between 12 p.m. and 1 p.m. I arrived at 2 p.m. I was promptly provided with a chair.

8:15 a.m.: I ride my bike along the semi-damp road. I see a motorcycle being driven. It’s Barnabé and he’s coming from the opposite direction of the school. Again the usual greetings are exchanged, and then he informs me he is going to a week-long information session required of all Beninese teachers. Classes will start next Monday.

8:20 a.m.: I make it to the entrance of the school and greet the surveillant (administrator in charge of disciplining students). He is taking down names of students who are cleaning the school yard. Now, when American students think of the first week of school they imagine paperwork – sign this, fill out these, read, sign, and return those, keep those, but don’t bring them back. When Beninese students think of the first week of school it’s images of brooms (brooms here are twigs collected and tied together) – sweep that, pull up those, sweep more, pick up these and those, move that to here and over there. It will continue this way until the following Monday.

8:25 a.m.:  Already here, I park my bike and lock it to a tree; I greet the accountant and school director; I receive my schedule for the school year; I handle business regarding the new school building; and I return home.

Monday, October 11^th: I will go to school – the first week having already passed by – and one more morning of sweeping will take place. By 5 p.m., (the time of my first class) school – the learning part of it – will have finally begun and continue on Tuesday.