Uniskript: Educational Challenges

Writing practice

Uniskript is an innovative approach to literacy which makes the connections between sound, mouth and symbol more explicit and therefore easier to learn to read. It has been developed through the University of the Nations in Hawai’i and although apocryphal reports have been favourable, it has not been thoroughly tested. During December and January I was able to be part of one of the first significant trials of Uniskript, as we established its use in the Koriki language, a dialect of Purari, in the Gulf Province.

In July last year, two Koriki women accompanied the local translation and literacy workers, Robbie and Debbie Petterson, to Hawai’i to work on Uniskript in their language. I call the Pettersons local, for although they are from NZ, they have also been working in the languages of the Gulf region since 1984 and are the sort of people that locals know as Auntie Debbie and Uncle Robbie. Two men from another local language also went, to get Uniskript started in Urama. Together they worked on alphabets unique to their language, using iconographs relevant to their culture. This means that each alphabet is unique to the group it belongs to.

Arriving in Gulf to help with Uniskript, I was jumping in the deep end…as usual. We spent half a day training eight volunteer teachers before classes started. Over 100 kids turned up, to a summer school literacy programme during the official school holidays. I challenge you to find that enthusiasm for school in Australia! We started with four classes, based on their current literacy skills in English and Koriki using the ‘normal’ (Roman) alphabet. I ended up with the class that had never been to school before.

My job was to mentor the two trainee teachers assigned to my class. I have not officially studied education principles, but having collected several university degrees and been in various educational settings before, have a surprisingly strong skill set when it comes to teacher training. At the same time, I was helping the children to learn. We were not only teaching them literacy through Uniskript, but as the absolute beginners class, we were also teaching class room behaviour and all those skills which Aussie kids learn through kindy or pre-school, such as how to hold a pencil and which direction a book goes (left to right, top to bottom, which end is the front).

The students in my class ranged from 20 (the day there was a funeral in the village) to over 40. Most days attendance was in the mid 30s. Calling the roll was one of my many challenges, as kids had multiple names. It took me a few weeks to be smart enough to dismiss students one by one as I called their names. In doing so, I found one student listed three times under different names. Another girl had two different first names and three surnames, presented in varying combinations. Ages in the class varied from four and a half to ten. None of them had been to school before.

Our class faced most of the common educational challenges for village schools in PNG. The class size was too big. The teacher was undertrained. The teacher who was well trained (myself) did not know the language. The students did not know English or Tok Pisin. The classrooms were suffering from tropical fatigue (The stairs to my classroom had rotted away, so we had to come up the other stairs and through another classroom and an office to reach our room. I had planned on including outdoor games, but these were cancelled when getting outdoors meant disrupting another class). We had minimal resources (It surprising how many flash cards you can create from one 2min noodle carton and a black marker, and we nearly ran out of chalk). The teachers were volunteers, so sometimes did not turn up, as they had to go fishing to feed their family. A village incidents, such as  funeral or a fight,  interrupted schooling. Class started late after a rainy night that meant that everyone slept in and the path to class was muddy… and so on. In this context, the work we did was a reasonable test of the effectiveness of Uniskript for teaching literacy. Any good results had few other sources to be credited to.

Now that I have set the scene for our Uniskript teaching, I’ll point you in the direction of some photos and get to writing about how Uniskript works and how the students and community responded.

For photos, please visit my photojournalist friend Erin’s blog:

http://speaklifespeakup.wordpress.com/2013/12/11/Uniskript/

http://speaklifespeakup.wordpress.com/2014/01/13/Uniskript-part-ii/

Firefly Light

As you watch fireworks to welcome in the new year, I’ll be celebrating in Kapuna, probably with a bonfire. Fireworks capture our imagination, as beautiful lights against the night sky. I am saddened by people who watch them through their camera, trying to catch the beauty of transience for posterity and so missing out on the moment. 

Some things are so beautiful that they are best enjoyed in the moment and cherished internally forever. They are not meant for photos or facebook, but are images and emotions for our soul to keep a record of. For me, these moments have often involved water, night time and lights. 

The moon rising under the bow of a ship under full sail, the black silhouette of sails against the glowing red circle, punctuated with stars.  

Dolphins riding the bow wave and trailing phosphorescence, giving credence to stories of mermaids. 

A still, moonless, cloudless night when the horizon went missing and we drifted among the stars. 

360⁰ of lightning storms strobing around us. 

The first hint of dawn after a long night on watch. 

The rising crescent moon like a fiery sail.  

Meteor showers that trail across the sky. 

The mystical curtain of Aurora Australis. 

A thunderstorm across a bay, reflecting the glow of the setting sun and pouring rain down on a city.  

The fireflies of Kapuna. 

Twice now we have been out on the river to see the fireflies. They have favourite trees which they congregate on, a delicate and dancing ball of lights, more mystical than any human creation or imagination. Drifting, balancing, falling, rising, landing on us as tiny yellow lights. All human efforts at fairy lights in trees now seem crass. 

Drifting on the river with friends, drinking milo, singing, laughing, sometimes talking, sometimes silent. The half moon reflecting off shiny palm branches, then hiding behind a cloud. The silhouette of a bat, like a mini pterodactyl. Venus setting and looking like an oncoming plane. Distant lightning forking across the sky. Orion appearing from the jungle in his eternal hunt of Taurus and Pleiades … and fireflies creating the most beautiful Christmas lights you’ll ever see. 

The second time we went there was no moon and the night was still. Firefly covered trees could be seen glowing in the distance, perfectly reflected in the water, alongside their distant starry companions. Once again we enjoyed the company of friends and the treat of chocolate, then we drifted in silence, awed at the beauty of creation.  

Happy New Year!

The Word became flesh and dwelt among us...

I love Christmas as it is a celebration of two of my favourite (and related) mysteries of the faith: incarnation and Immanuel. These are the mysteries that God who is always with us is the same God who took on human flesh and walked among us at a specific point in history as the man Jesus. A God who knows what it is to be human and who loves us unconditionally, as no human can.

It is also a reminder to me of why I love giving my time and energy to Bible translation. In translation we are part of an incarnational ministry. We slowly become part of a community, learning language and culture. Although translation is our purpose, that is wrapped in many activities that respond to a community’s need and helps them to grow. Translation itself takes something foreign and makes it local. It gives birth to God’s word in another language and through that, in people’s hearts.

The birth of the babe at Bethlehem is the ultimate translation, as that was when the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. May that child-sized faith take root in you and grow to an adult-sized faith that can take on the challenges of the life in a fallen yet redeemed world, knowing that we are never alone, but are always loved by Immanuel, God-with-us.

Joy to the world indeed!

Walk to work, Koriki style

Kapuna Hospital grounds

As we work on teaching literacy through Uniskript in the Koriki language, we are living at Kapuna Hospital and walking to work at Ara’ava each day.

Leaving in the morning, we wind our way through the Kapuna compound, following the skinny concrete paths designed to save you from sinking into the mud after rain, between staff houses, past the wards and the maternity waiting dorm. Patients in PNG hospitals have to be self supporting, so the families who are looking after them also need somewhere to sleep, cook, do laundry etc. We pass the series of buildings for families to stay in, one building per language group that uses this hospital. We are then nearly at the edge of the property, with just the classroom to go as this is a teaching hospital for community health workers. Student dorms, the store, the workshop and more staff housing are elsewhere on the property.

Sago making spot

As we walk towards Ara’ava, the path is often muddy from overnight rains (this is the dry season!), so I have to watch my step else I slip and fall. The path follows the river downstream and is lined with gardens of banana and sweet potato. There is also a spot for making sago, with its distinctive red-orange leftovers everywhere.

The bridges over the numerous creeks feeding into the river vary in quality. Some have metal on top, left-overs from WWII. Others are a single log wide, usually with some grip marks hacked in with a bush knife, but still slippery after rain. Most have a few logs, but I often walk on just one log, as practice for the one log bridges. When the tide is out, it can be a long way to the bottom of the creek and I cross the bridges very gingerly. When the tide is in, the water can be nearly up to the bridge level and I wander across the same bridges with little concern, as it would be a short fall and a soft (but wet) landing.

Bridges

Ara’ava village itself is built along the river. The school where we are working is at the far end of the village, so we walk through the whole town, wishing people ‘Vapanima’ as we go. This path can be extremely muddy, so I wave and greet people, but rarely look up from my feet. By the time we come home, a few hours of sunshine have dried out the path and I can look around me as I walk. Depending how late in the day it is, we can be greeting people with ‘Darima!’ or ‘Pukuima’ …or switching back and forth, as people do not all agree if it is still the heat of the day, or the afternoon already. Returning to the hospital our greetings shift to English and Tok Pisin, as the patients are not all Koriki and so have various greetings of their own.

Winding back through the gardens, across the bridges and into the hospital compound, I am shaded by my umbrella. The heat and humidity here makes my head sweat, so hats are uncomfortable, whereas umbrellas provide shade while allowing a breeze… and are handy for when sun changes to rain with little notice.

The final bridge to the house I’m staying in has a cute roof over it and is followed by a flower lined path. I do not know who built it, but it is an odd piece of whimsy and makes me smile as I return home for a shower, a snack and a nap.

Waste not, want not

Although simplicity is something I aspire to, I am generally bad at reducing the amount of stuff I have. Packing up my house after a year, so that the owners could return, highlighted to me how quickly I have accumulated things. Living in PNG, when I’m not certain when I might be able to find something again, has not helped. It means I increasingly acquire or store things ‘just in case’.

I am not the only one with this problem. Because things can be hard to find when needed, many people bring extra items into the country, but do not take them with when they leave. It is not worth paying for the shipping. This results in an internal-to-the-organisation market of bits and pieces. At the community sale I picked up some great retro kitchen canisters that would cost a lot more at home. From friends going away I’ve ended up with half bottles of moisturiser, half used kitchen items and so forth. The internal ‘wanted’ and ‘for sale’ e-boards have a constant stream of unexpected items.

People are known to sell their house as is, including unsorted storage sheds. This often results in a garage sale to redistribute the contents to those who want them. It can mean interesting discoveries; such as the person who had boxes of rags, all cleaned and sorted into ‘white, cotton’, ‘coloured, cotton’ etc. My fabric collection has increased from such sources… from the sales that is, not from the rags!

When sorting my house I found that the zips on my old backpack had finally stopped working. This was not a problem, as I’d already bought a replacement from someone’s clearing sale before they went ‘finish’. Instead, I got out my scissors and cut off all the useful bits to add to my sewing box…buckles, clips, internal zips… they all went in the pile before the backpack went in the bin. I have already made myself a laptop bag from the zips and straps retrieved from another bag and the fabric from second hand clothing, so I’m sure these zips will come in handy too. I left enough of the clips on my backpack that should someone choose to recycle it from the tip and get the zips working again, it could still be used.

That was the point at which I realised I’d very much become a part of the waste-not, want-not culture and the absolute truth that one person’s junk surely is another’s treasure!

Dehydration

My work table, with supervisor and dehydrator

A glance around my house would tell you that I am getting ready to go somewhere. There are piles of things on the table needing returning to their owners. A pile of postcards is addressed and waiting for me to write on them and send them to Australia with a friend for posting. Things are piling up in various locations ready for packing. The dehydrator is humming away, with new contents every day or so.

Dehydration is part of life when working in villages. It is a process which allows me to take with extra nutrients and protein that may not be readily available where I am going. Dehydrated food has a long shelf life and weighs little. This means I can pack food for several weeks without worrying about refrigeration or paying for the weight to fly it about. 

Everything we fly here is charged by weight, including myself. At the hanger I step onto the scales and the aviation department writes down my body weight so that they can charge me per kg. My cargo suffers a similar fate, but takes it less personally. 

Today the dehydrator holds beans and carrots. These grow well in the Highlands but are not available where I’ll be going. Last week I put 2kg of mince through, ending up with a few small bags of crumbed meat at the end. The red meat options where I’ll be going is basically tinned corned beef, which I can only eat in small doses. I’m looking forward to fresh crab though!

One of the village packing piles,
including a life jacket for when
travelling on the water

 Last week I dehydrated strawberries, which made the house smell wonderful, and resulted in a super sweet snack. Highlands strawberries have a wonderful strong flavour already, but dehydrated that is intensified and half a strawberry is enough to blow your tastebuds away. A few pineapples went through as well, because three were ripe in the garden simultaneously, not because they won’t be available.

Another dehydrated goodie which is in the packing pile is mung beans. I buy these at the store already dried, then sprout them in the village to give me instant fresh vegetables. 

As a dehydrator is a standard tool for a village team, I was pleasantly surprised when someone donated theirs to me earlier this year. They were returning home to look after elderly parents, knew that I was new to the field and knew that I would need it. Since then I’ve been able to purchase another one second hand, allowing me to stack my original machine twice as high with the extra racks.

2kg mince, 3 pineapples,
a large tub of strawberries: 700g

The other dehydration village teams face is from not drinking enough. As I’m off to a lowlands area, I know that kulau (green coconut, for drinking) will be available, which is better than a sports drink and naturally pure. I’m also packing my Vegemite, to help balance my salt intake with my sweat output. 

So, the dehydrating and packing must continue. I write to-do lists, enjoy crossing things off, then start a new list. Boxes need to be filled, taped and labelled. By Dec 4 everything must be ready to go to the village with me or into storage, as I’m also moving out of this house, ready for the owners to return while I’m away.

Sacrifice?

Books with Leyla

My blog has been quiet for a while because I went on holidays to Perth, my childhood home and where all my sisters live with their families. I had a great time catching up with family and friends, plus spoke at a different church each of the three Sundays I was there. Something people mentioned several times was how much I’ve sacrificed to be in PNG and ‘Can they send me anything?’ Well, I love what I do and the place where I work. Sure, it has challenges, but so does life anywhere. People speak of sacrifices and I find myself thinking that they’re the ones who are missing out, not me! 

Yet the sense of loss kicked in when it was time for goodbyes. I hugged Leyla goodbye and thought about the fact that she’ll be nearly five instead of nearly three when I next see her. Edan gave me a good night kiss and I wondered if he’d remember my visit, or just a blurry skype face, by the time I’m back in Perth again. I tucked Eva into bed, knowing that she’ll be in full time school in two years, the time until I visit next. I’ll just have to plan my trips around school holidays, even if the tickets cost more. Not seeing my nieces and nephews grow up, not being present in their lives, that is the sacrifice. 

Playing in a fountain with Edan

Saying goodbye to my sisters and friends is hard too, but we can communicate over distance in a different way. Our family has long been full of wanderers, so we’re fairly good at keeping a relationship going over a distance. Thank God for skype!

So it was that I boarded the plane, emotionally and physically exhausted. Hayley, who took me to the airport, was good enough to give me room to cry if I wanted to, but not push it if I chose to hold things together. The thickness of my lisp gave away that I was barely holding things together. 

Flights, airport waits, not enough sleep and I returned to Ukarumpa. I was quickly reminded that this really is my other home now and this really is my other family. The friendliness started at Brisbane airport, where I met up with colleagues returning from the US where they had been to farewell an elderly mother. At the hanger in Port Moresby my pilot was a class mate from orientation. Going to church on Sunday I received big hugs from girls that I’m an ‘Auntie’ to here, plus saw lots of other good friends, some of who had been away for months.

Two of my talented sisters

I live a transient life in a transient place. Away for three weeks, back for two and a bit, away for six, back for another few weeks, then away for two months... meanwhile my friends are doing the same thing and we enjoy the times when our paths happen to cross. I love what I do, yet this transience and the distance from people I care deeply about, is the price tag. It is one I am willing to pay, but sometimes  I pay it with tears.

PS As for the ‘What can we send you?’ question, I have suppliers of chocolate, fabric, dried fruit and nuts in place, but all parcels are joyfully accepted :-)