After getting our things back to the room, we had just enough time to savor the fan for a little while, and change into non-sweaty shirts before going to the schoolyard to begin the first study session for primary students, grades 1-3. As we rounded the corner of the library to the primary school compound, my anxiety caught my breath. What looked to be a mass of 70-80 children waited for us, full of excited energy. I like kids, don’t get me wrong, but here we were, in a compound, just the two of us with no other adult who could help translate or keep order. I even have trouble controlling the dozen children that frequent our compound every day seeking attention… we were way over our heads.
We called their attention and gathered them together around us. Sam brought stickers to pass out which originally seemed like a fun idea, though quickly we were buried under anxious hands and faces… stickers to these children had the same effect as if we’d held a weak baby antelope over a pride of hungry lions. We stopped short of handing stickers to everyone as chaos took over and began to eat us alive. I got them to be relatively quiet and attentive enough to have them sit in front of us under a tree while Sam read a story. Within the first two pages, the children inched and pushed closer and closer until I barely had room to breathe. Children were pressed up against us in the front and from behind we could feel children breathing on our necks they were so close. I was getting claustrophobic very quickly. Hop on Pop did the trick—Sam would say a line or two and most of the crowd of children would repeat it, looking at the words and pictures on the page. The sanity didn’t last long; children were pushing each other to get a better look, fighting and yelling at each other. An adult thankfully walked by and told the kids to back off so we could breathe; he then suggested we move them into a classroom, which is great in theory but in practice we were doomed. First of all, rather than only dealing with Primary classes 1, 2, and 3, all of Primary 1-6 had shown up… a miscommunication to say the least. Second, when we got into the classroom, I sent the older kids home but a few stayed behind to keep order by arming themselves with giant sticks, smacking the desks and threatening the younger ones. I thought for sure a war would break out. The classroom was loud and echoed and it became impossible to do anything. We tried, but reluctantly (and with a simultaneous sigh of relief) sent them home.
The children didn’t go home. That would have been too easy. Some had, but 60 children or so began to follow us back through the village. Looking behind me in slight panic, I planned our escape. We couldn’t walk home because then all 60 of them would know where we lived and any chance of future privacy would be lost forever. As we neared Mama’s house, we decided to bid the children goodbye, for the eighth time, and take refuge in Mama’s compound. It didn’t work. They ALL followed us into her compound. In shock, Mama looked between us and the swarm of children that poured into her home, fully comprehending the look of apologetic panic written across my face. It took a few minutes but she sent most of them out of the compound. Samantha and I waited patiently for a while… knowing well enough that at least 20 or 30 still lingered behind the compound walls, ready to attack the minute we let our guard down. After about 15 minutes I snuck to the side wall to check, and sure enough, they were waiting to pounce. I was running through the options in my head: a) we could make a run for it, but they would probably chase us thinking it’s a game; b) we could try to reason with them, but we already had and they are clearly too persistent; or c) we could climb out a window in Mama’s back room, sneak around behind the schoolyards, take a different path behind the chief’s house, go through the alleyway next to his house, cross the road by the bus stop, and run down the side alley back to our house. Yep, option C seemed the most appropriate.
Luckily, we didn’t have to stoop to such measures. Just then, Mrs. Agnes Asafu (our landlord’s wife who strangely doesn’t live with him, rather she lives across the road next to Mama) greeted us and asked about being interviewed. She wanted to show us her house so we followed her out of the compound, and suddenly were free! Afterward, Sam and I took the chance to head home, and I took refuge in my book on the front stoop. Soon, Kosi showed up wanting to read more of our books so while I sat on the steps outside, Kosi sat quietly behind me and read, shielded by the curtain. Shortly thereafter, the strange man who grilled us about Ewe yesterday showed up and began asking me questions again, this time talking faster and using expressions I didn’t remember. Luckily, Kosi whispered the answers from behind the curtain, completely hidden from the man—I really love that kid. Kosi left, and Hans and Emil joined us for some evening conversation that was mainly more questions from Emil. He asked about Ho, about food in the US, crocodiles, and zombies. Over dinner (plain rice), Sam and I talked about pets, then talked briefly with Mama, and got ready for bed.
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