The Chicken Coop School
CRISPAZ volunteer Marieka Brown taught English to 7th
, 8th , and 9th graders at the Popular Junior High School
in the community of El Barío, Department of Cuscatlán.
The sun’s heat pounds down on us through the aluminum
ceiling as we sit in Esperanza’s kindergarten classroom.
Can you believe that they want to stop me from getting
my teaching credential just because I can’t get this
English? The thick humid air envelopes us as we stare at
the Ministry of Education’s textbook for junior year
in high school. I have A’s and B’s in every
other subject but they won’t let me continue studying
if I fail this class. These rooms get so hot you can see
the heat as it rises off the metal roof. Fifteen of us
didn’t pass the last English test and they told us
we wouldn’t be able to teach anymore. Children often
complain of sore eyes and headaches from studying in a
building that is so non-conducive to learning. We went
to speak to someone in the Ministry three times and they
finally, reluctantly, agreed to give us one more chance.
I just hope I can do it. With God’s help we’ll
pass and be able to continue studying. I’ve been
teaching for so long, I can’t imagine not working.
Esperanza is a teacher. A “popular teacher”.
She began teaching her children and the children of El
Barío with only a 4 th grade education. Her “career” began
about 15 years ago when the war started and the certified
teachers stopped coming in from the city to give classes.
After the school was bombed and the conflict intensified,
she and other parents came together and decided that educating
themselves and their communities was an integral element
of the current popular struggle for self-determination
and human rights. With no resources, minimal education
and a lot of love, these new popular teachers took it upon
themselves to teach the children of their communities to
read and write. Using chalk-like stones and slabs of rock
they sat under trees and etched out the ABC’s and
123’s. Classes were held in between bombings and
soldier raids, and students were ready at a moment’s
notice to run for cover in the buzones , or underground
tunnels, throughout the community. When the people of the
area were rounded up and placed in refugee camps, popular
teachers continued their lessons and slowly but surely
their students passed from grade to grade.
Education has been and continues to be one of the strongholds
of El Barío. When the community returned from the
refugee camps and repopulated the land in 1986 the elementary
school was one of the first structures built. Made of small
red bricks, chicken-wire windows and playboard, it has
become known as the “chicken coop school”.
Like most of the houses and buildings constructed at that
time, it was designed as a temporary structure while members
of the community got their lives in order, harvested their
first crop and saved money to settle into more livable
conditions. 12 years have passed and many of the aluminum-siding
shacks have turned into mud-brick homes with tiled roofs
and, with the help of non-governmental organizations, El
Barío now has a dental and general health clinic
and a brand new church building. For four years the community
has solicited help from the government to build a more
adequate school building for the 625 students who attend
kindergarten through 9 th grade. The Ministry of Education
says they’ll happily build a new school, on the condition
that four of the popular teachers be replaced by ‘official’ teachers.
The chicken coop school remains unchanged.
Esperanza and I spend the afternoon flipping through
exercises, reviewing English grammar and discussing the
politics of popular educators. Much has changed since the
war ended: children attend school freely without the fear
of being bombed, the buzones in which people hid have been
filled in with earth and teachers have actual classrooms
in which to teach. Even so, many things remain the same:
there are next to no resources for popular schools and
the government continues to put the education of campesinos
as its lowest priority. After the signing of the Peace
Accords, the Archbishop’s office and the FMLN approached
the government to integrate the popular teachers into the
Ministry of Education. After three years of discussion,
the government finally agreed to offer weekend classes
to help popular teachers get their high school diplomas.
Given the history of the government’s disinterest
in educating campesinos, and its inability to work closely
with popular educators, most teachers fear they are being
set up to fail.
Esperanza’s sister, Lupe, was one of the first
15 popular educators to receive her high school diploma
last November. I remember the excitement in her eyes as
she talked of her studies and the possibility of graduating
in two more years with her teaching credential. Six months
have passed; the teachers have made three trips to the
university (two hours away by bus) with the promise of
beginning classes. Each time they have encountered yet
another delay, another hoop through which to jump. Through
all of the empty promises, Lupe is trying hard to hold
on to her hope of some day being a certified teacher. If
God wants it, we will be able to continue studying. We
just keep moving forward, putting all of our faith and
hard work into our studies and our teaching, waiting .
. . someday we will get our certification . . . if God
wants it.
The armed conflict has ended, but the popular struggle
continues. Popular teachers continue to fight for the rights
of their children and their communities through grassroots
education taught by and for people who are committed to
bettering the lives of campesinos. Sitting here in this
chicken coop school, in these small pew-like desks of Esperanza’s
kindergarten class, I know that there will never be easy
answers. What is due to these women, this community, this
people will never be handed to them. Yes, the popular struggle
continues and, as is true around the world, it always will.
As the day’s heat slowly dissolves into the evening’s
soft warmth, I stop a moment and look at this woman beside
me. Mother. Campesina. Student. Teacher. Esperanza is a
teacher. And whether the government recognizes it or not,
she always will be.
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