The Foreign Service Journal, March 2005

64 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / M A R C H 2 0 0 5 R EFLECTIONS Sports Day B Y J OSH G LAZEROFF T he cliché about being alone but never really alone holds true in Zimbabwe. Serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer and science teacher in a small rural school, I was a visitor and a guest immersed in a different world with its own set of rules, not always to my liking. The work was challenging, an exercise in communicating across cultures — like figuring out how to teach the concept of electricity in the home to students who slept under thatch roofs and collected water in buckets from the nearest stream. Those students did not have the chance to experience the world out- side their country, or really even out- side the nearest town. Any school outing or event meant a break from the everyday. Sports Day at Njedza Secondary School meant a friendly competition in track and field, soccer, volleyball or netball with neighboring schools. Our 60-plus students trekked from their homes on foot, some from five miles away, for the ride to the other schools. They wore school uniforms, button- down shirts and shorts or skirt, the only uniform some had. They brought the most “sporting” shoes they could find, in a few cases going barefoot for better performance on the athletic fields. Not having a bus, the school rent- ed a big, loud, dirty flatbed truck ordi- narily used to carry dozens of sacks of maize at harvest time. Picture it: six teachers and all those students climb- ing into the cab and stacking them- selves in orderly rows on the back of the truck for the two-hour-long morn- ing journey down rural dirt roads. Don’t ask how we managed to get the sports equipment on, too! The stu- dents, if not the teachers, were no less energetic for being cramped. For them, this was an adventure to be savored. Our school had the fewest stu- dents, so every victory was historic, while all losses were blamed on our small size. Eventually, hours in the hot sun running from field to field wore out even the most effervescent of our charges. As the sunlight faded and the day drew to a close, we would gather for the ride back to school with dusty uniforms and tired smiles. On one trip the other schoolteach- ers chose that moment — with the students lined up and the equipment stowed — to head to the local bar for a couple of beers. Thinking of the students’ treks to their homes and my own hope for a bath when we finally got back to school, I became angry. I yelled to the driver to leave my carousing colleagues behind. But because he was waiting for them to bring him his own beer, he was in no hurry, and I was left to struggle with my own frustration (and perhaps my lack of cultural understanding). For me, there was no excitement in seeing another small town. I could (and did) visit the capital city without any concern for the distance or the cost. Yet for many on that truck, the day could very well be one of only a few treasured trips, a precious oppor- tunity to escape the routine and spend a whole day laughing and playing with their friends. Half an hour later, after a bit more jostling and a couple of beers pur- chased for the road, we finally depart- ed. As we made our way back, with everyone exhausted by the heat and excitement of the day, the students suddenly started to sing. It was a moment of transcendence: 60-plus voices called out into the silence and darkness of the rural areas with a mes- sage of strength and happiness and camaraderie. I realized that I, too, was experiencing something out of the ordinary, even extraordinary. How many times would I have a day like this one? I leaned back and looked up at the stars. How did I get to be so lucky? n Josh Glazeroff left his teaching career to join the Foreign Service in 1997. He has served in Santo Domingo, Durban and Washington, D.C., where he currently works as a career development officer in the Human Resources Bureau. The stamp is courtesy of the AAFSW Bookfair “Stamp Corner.” Whether we won or lost, a field trip was an adventure to be savored. w